IJ  *  f- 


/ 


tyhsiA^M^^   /  f  ^  x 


WtAty?* 


o^u 


• 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/youngditchridersOOwhit 


David  C.  Cook  Publishing  Co.,  Elgin,  111.,  and 
36  Washington  St.,  Chicago. 

CHAPTEE  I. 

JJ  AERY  PUECELL  reined  in  his  pony 
■*■  on  the  embankment  and  looked 

disappointedly  into  the  ditch.  It  was  as 
dry  as  a  powder-horn. 

"  There  can't  have  been  much  of  a 
rise,"  was  his  thought.  "  The  water 
ought  to  have  been  here  before  now." 

The  buffalo-grass  plains  were  about 
him,  the  sun  blazed  down  on  him  from  a 
cloudless  sky,  and  a  hot  south  wind 
fanned  his  cheeks.  He  could  hear  the 
wind  as  well  as  feel  it.  It  soughed  sug- 
gestively across  the  gray  expanses   and 


THtYOUNG 
DITCH 

AIMm  hi  llllllllilllii'l" 

RIDER 

•  A-  STORYOF-THE-PLA1N5- 


sang  among  the  clods  at  his  pony's 
feet.  It  was  a  sapless,  dessicating 
wind,  whose  breath  meant  ruin  to 
the  crops  unless  an  abundant  flow 
of  water  could  speedily  be  obtained. 
Harry  Purcell  was  the  "  ditch- 
rider  "  for  the  Golconda  Irrigation 
and  Development  Company.  This 
company,  tapping  the  upper  Arkan- 
sas with  its  main  canal,  led  the  water  out 
upon  the  high  uplands  known  as  the 
"  flats,"  where,  by  a  series  of  smaller 
canals,  it  was  distributed  to  the  farmers. 
The  season  was  an  exceptionally  dry 
one.  It  was  now  near  the  end  of  June 
and  there  had  been  no  rain  since  early  in 
April.  Worse  still,  the  river  was  so  low 
that  there  was  not  enough  water  for  irri- 
gating purposes;  and  the  farmers,  whose 
crops  were  withering,  alternated  between 
despair  at  the  ruin  they  foresaw  and  anger 
against  the  "  ditch  "  company,  at  whose 
door  they  laid  most  of  their  misfortunes. 
Harry  Purcell's  duties  were  so  onerou3 


Copyright,  1898  and  1899,  by  David  C.  Cook  Publishing  Company. 


2  THE   YOUNG 

that  he  was  usually  in  the  saddle  from 
daylight  till  dark.  His  work  of  "  riding 
the  ditch  "  required  him  to  inspect  the 
embankments,  dams  and  water-gates 
along  more  than  thirty  miles  of  canals 
and  laterals.  In  addition,  he  was  ex- 
pected to  placate  the  grumblers,  distribute 
the  water  justly  and  impartially,  and  pre- 
vent water-stealing.  Certainly  this  was 
enough  work,  and  more  than  enough 
work,  for  a  boy  of  seventeen. 

Harry  had  ridden  to  the  head  of  the 
ditch  the  day  before,  and  had  been  led  to 
believe,  by  the  appearance  of  the  water  in 
the  river,  that  the  long-hoped-for  spring 
rise  was  at  hand.  This  rise,  which 
usually  comes  late  in  May  or  early  in 
June,  is  not  brought  about  by  rainfall, 
but  by  the  melting  of  snow  in  the  moun- 
tains. As  soon  as  the  season  is  sufficiently 
advanced  the  snows  melt  in  the  high 
gorges  and  the  water  is  poured  into  the 
stream  from  a  thousand  sources.  Burst- 
ing through  the  Grand  Canon,  that 
mighty  cleft  in  the  great  eastern  barrier 
of  the  Eockies,  the  Arkansas  flows  out  in 
a  muddy  flood  across  the  thirsty  plains  of 
Eastern  Colorado  and  Western  Kansas, 
where  hundreds  of  miles  of  irrigating 
canals  distribute  the  bulk  of  it  over  cul- 
tivated fields,  and  rob  the  demon  Drouth 
of  its  terrors. 

The  young  ditch-rider  looked  earnestly 
up  the  ditch,  whose  brown  embankments, 
rising  like  ridges  upheaved  by  gigantic 
moles,  ran  in  parallel  zigzags  toward  the 


DTTCH-BWEK 

southwest.  To  the  southward  and  across 
the  river  the  grass-covered  sand-hills 
thrust  up  their  tousled  heads.  To  the 
westward  and  northward  and  eastward 
rose  houses  and  "  shacks,"  with  windmills 
wheeling  on  airy  towers;  and  stacks  of  hay 
and  grain,  kept  over  from  the  previous 
summer,  evidencing  the  fatness  of  the 
land.  Just  across  the  ditch  a  saucy 
prairie  dog,  upreared  on  the  edge  of  its 
hole,  barked  impudently,  while  other 
prairie  dog  mounds  were  visible  farther 
away. 

The  look  of  disappointment  deepened 
into  one  of  anxiety.  Among  those  vitally 
interested  in  the  coming  of  the  water,  the 
young  ditch-rider  numbered  his  mother 
and  himself;  for  Mrs.  Purcell  had  a 
"  proved-up  "  pre-emption  farther  up  the 
ditch,  with  a  number  of  acres  of  grain, 
alfalfa  and  sorghum  growing  on  it. 

Harry  Purcell  drew  his  pony  back  from 
the  embankment  and  rode  on  across  the 
unfenced  country,  unmindful  of  the  hot 
south  wind  and  the  burning  sun.  His 
earnest  face  was  as  brown  as  a  nut;  his 
wide-brimmed  white  hat,  held  in  place  by 
a  cord  that  passed  loosely  behind  his 
head,  flared  and  flapped;  the  huge  wooden 
stirrups  rose  and  fell;  the  tail  of  his  short 
coat  snapped  in  the  breeze.  As  the  buck- 
skin pony  bounded  on  in  a  rocking  can- 
ter, shying  around  a  badger  hole  now  and 
then,  the  young  ditch-rider,  sitting  with 
Western  firmness  in  the  deep  saddle,  cer- 
tainly presented  an  attractive  picture. 


TEE   YOUNG 

The  buckskin  was  so  intelligent  an  ani- 
mal, with  such  a  knowing  look  in  its 
eyes,  that  Harry  had  often  tried  to  pic- 
ture what  its  life  must  have  been  before 
it  came  into  his  possession. 

For  one  thing  it  had  been  owned  by  an 
Indian,  as  was  shown  by  the  brand  burned 
on  its  hip.  That  brand  rudely  repre- 
sented a  bow  and  arrow  and  a  buffalo. 
That  the  bow  and  arrow  were  as  large  as 
the  buffalo  only  evidenced  the  lack  of 
skill  or  the  peculiar  taste  of  the  Indian 
artist. 

It  had  as  evidently  escaped  from  its 
Indian  owner,  for  it  had  been  caught 
from  a  wild  herd  on  the  banks  of  the 
Canadian,  by  Kansas  horse-hunters,  who 
had  re-subjugated  it  by  means  of  their 
cruel  "  breaking "  chains,  whose  scars 
still  showed  on  its  forelegs.  From  these 
horse-hunters  Harry  had  bought  it. 

A  change  of  the  ditch's  direction 
brought  into  view  a  house  that  was  a 
cross  between  a  "  shack "  and  a  "  dug- 
out "  —  a  rough,  shanty  -  like  structure, 
half  above  ground,  and  half  underground 
in  cellar  fashion.  This  was  the  home  of 
Eichmond  Baily.  "  Old  Baily,"  nearly 
everybody  called  him;  and  so  Harry 
thought  of  him,  though  he  always  took 
good  care  to  address  the  irascible  farmer 
as  "  Mr.  Baily." 

As  Baily's  came  within  the  field  of 
vision,  there  was  again  a  tightening  of 
the  rein,  though  the  pony  was  not  brought 
to  a  full  halt;  and  the  teeth  of  the  young 


DITCH-EIDER.  3 

ditch-rider  closed  with  a  click  of  sudden 
suspicion. 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit  if  old 
Baily's  got  the  water  turned  into  his 
fields!" 

From  the  first  there  had  been  ill-will 
between  the  Bailys  and  Purcells;  and, 
when  Harry  had  secured  the  position  of 
ditch-rider,  Baily  had  been  prompt  to 
question  his  fitness  for  the  place  and  to 
hint  suggestively  that  Mrs.  Purcell  would 
no  doubt  now  raise  good  crops  even  if  no 
one  else  did. 

Coming  to  the  ears  of  the  Purcells  this 
did  not  incline  them  to  think  more  kindly 
of  Mr.  Baily.  As  for  Mrs.  Baily,  she  was 
never  much  taken  into  account  by  any- 
one, and  less  so  by  her  husband.  She 
was  a  sickly  woman,  who  was  almost  a 
nonentity  in  her  own  home  and  every- 
where else. 

But  there  was  one  member  of  the  Baily 
family  against  whom  no  bitter  or  cross- 
grained  word  was  ever  uttered.  That 
was  little  Elsie,  a  bright-haired  creature 
of  eight  —  the  angel  of  the  household.    '  i 

As  Harry  Purcell  again  set  the  pony  in 
motion  and  rode  toward  Baily's,  there 
came  back  to  him,  in  all  its  details,  the 
recollection  of  the  beginning  of  the  ill- 
feeling  that  had  separated  the  families. 
Both  Mr.  Baily  and  Mrs.  Purcell  had 
wanted  the  same  pre-emption.  A  Golden 
City  land  agent  and  locator  had  called 
Mrs.  Purcell's  attention  to  it,  and  she  had 
employed  him  to  drive  her  son  and  her- 


THE   YOUNG  BITGH-BIDEB. 


self  out  to  the  land  that  they  might  make 
the  beginning  of  the  "  improvements " 
demanded  by  the  law,  which,  in  practice, 
was  usually  no  more  than  the  shoveling 
of  a  few  spadefuls  of  earth,  or  the  laying 
of  a  so-called  "  foundation  "  for  a  house. 

As  it  chanced,  Mr.  Baily  had  been 
driven  out  from  Golden  City  the  same 
day,  by  a  rival  locator,  who  intended  to 
place  him  on  that  identical  pre-emption. 
The  object  of  each  party  becoming  known 
to  the  other,  the  result  was  a  wild  race 
across  the  trailless  plains,  in  which  Mrs. 
Purcell  won. 

The  fact  that  the  victor  was  a  widow 
did  not  seem  to  alter  Mr.  Baily's  feelings 
on  the  subject.  The  defeat  and  the  loss 
of  the  land  made  him  bitter.  He  took, 
as  the  next  best,  the  pre-emption  adjoin- 
ing it  on  the  east;  and  shortly  afterward 
moved  his  family  there  and  went  to  rais- 
ing cattle  and  farming. 

But  he  was  far  from  being  a  good 
neighbor,  the  Purcells  thought.  He  did 
not  closely  watch  his  cattle  and  they  more 
than  once  devoured  Mrs.  Purcell's  crops. 
Though  warned  that  young  sorghum  and 
damp  green  alfalfa  were  especially  hurt- 
ful to  cattle,  Baily  paid  no  heed;  and  one 
morning  four  of  his  finest  cows  were 
dead  from  alfalfa  bloat,  as  the  result  of 
trespassing  in  the  Purcell  alfalfa  field. 

It  taught  him  a  lesson,  but  it  increased 
his  dislike  for  the  Purcells. 

Baily  was  one  of  the  heaviest  farmers, 
and  had  contracted  for  enough  water  to 


irrigate  a  hundred  acres.  That  allowed 
him  a  water-gate  aperture  ten  inches 
high  and  ten  inches  wide;  or  one  hundred 
inches  of  water,  flowing  through  the  gate 
under  what  is  technically  known  as  a 
"four-inch  pressure."  It  was  Harry 
Purcell's  duty,  when  the  water  was  run- 
ning, to  open  each  gate  to  the  limit  al- 
lowed by  the  farmer's  water  contract  and 
to  lock  it  there;  but  no  one  else  was 
privileged  to  do  this. 

Harry  knew,  however,  that  in  some  in- 
stances duplicate  keys  had  been  procured, 
and  locks  broken,  and  even  ditches 
boldly  cut  with  the  spade,  to  bring  about 
an  increase  in  the  flow. 

"  Baily's  mean  enough  to  steal  every 
inch  of  water  in  the  ditch,  if  he  believed 
no  one  would  catch  him  at  it!"  was  his 
thought,  as  the  pony  galloped  on  in  that 
easy,  tireless  way  that  takes  the  true 
Western  pony  so  rapidly  over  the  ground 
and  enables  it  to  accomplish  such  dis- 
tances. 

Harry  did  not  stop  to  consider  how  un- 
just to  Mr.  Baily  this  reflection  might  be, 
until  he  rode  into  the  fenceless  fields  and 
up  to  the  ditch  in  front  of  the  house  and 
saw  that  the  ditch  was  as  dry  at  that 
point  as  it  was  further  down. 

Baily,  who  was  engaged  in  splicing  a 
string  of  barbed  wire  on  his  cattle  corral, 
using  an  old  wagon  wheel  as  a  wire 
stretcher,  abandoned  his  task  and  shuffled 
across  to  where  the  young  ditch-rider  had 
halted. 


THE   YOUNG 

"  I  think  it's  a  shame!"  he  declared, 
his  face  mantling.  "  Here  I  haven't 
had  a  drop  of  water  since  I  don't  know 
when,  and  ain't  likely  to  have,  seems 
like!" 

Elsie,  who  had  heen  playing  with  a 
shepherd  puppy,  left  her  rough  playmate 
and  followed  her  father,  coming  to  a  halt 
a  few  feet  behind  him.  As  her  father 
talked,  she  stared  up  at  Harry  with  her 
wondrous  blue  eyes,  that  seemed  so  like 
hits  out  of  the  Kansas  sky,  and  threw 
back,  with  a  sunburned  little  hand,  the 
bright  hair  that  the  brisk  wind  persisted 
in  tossing  into  her  face. 

"  You  told  me  there'd  be  water  down 
to-day!"  Baily  said. 

"  I  told  you  I  thought  there  would  be," 
Harry  corrected.  "  And  I'm  surprised 
that  it  isn't  here  before  this." 

"Don't  see  why  you  should  be!"  Baily 
snapped.  "  Your  company  expects  to  git 
rich  without  spending  a  cent.  They 
ought  to  lengthen  that  dam." 

Harry  tried  to  apologize  for  the  com- 
pany's shortcomings. 

"  The  snows  are  slow  to  melt  this  sea- 
son. I  expected  the  water  to-day.  I'll 
ride  up  to  the  river  again  and  see  what's 
the  matter.  There  may  be  some  trouble 
at  the  dam." 

"And  I'll  go  'long  with  you!"  said 
Baily,  stepping  toward  the  sod  stable  to 
bring  out  his  pony. 

The  tone  and  manner  were  nagging  in 
the    extreme,    and    at    any   time    Harry 


DITGH-BIDEB.  5 

would  much  have  preferred  Mr.  Baily's 
room  to  his  company. 

"  Look  at  that  wheat!"  Baily  grumbled, 
as  he  swung  into  the  saddle  and  they  set 
out  together.  "Yellow  as  a  pumpkin 
and  chinch-bugged  till  you  kin  smell  it 
to  town  and  back.  It  won't  cut  five 
bushels  to  the  acre;  and  if  this  thing 
keeps  up  it  won't  even  pay  to  run  a  har- 
vester over  it.  Water  on  that  ground  in 
March  would  have  made  it.  And  the 
river  was  running  bank  full  then!" 

The  young  ditch-rider  did  not  want  an 
argument  and  remained  silent.  Besides, 
there  was  much  truth  in  the  statement. 

"  'Stead  0'  conductin'  things  in  a  busi- 
ness-like way,  you  fellers  was  tinkerin* 
'long,  tryin'  to  make  a  nickel's  worth  of 
work  cover  a  dollar's  worth  of  need.  The 
water  that  might  have  been  had,  run  on. 
down  to  the  gulf;  and  then,  when  it  was 
all  gone,  you  sent  out  notices  that  the 
ditches  was  ready  and  that  you  was  in 
condition  to  make  contracts." 

"  You  farmers  can't  hold  yourselves 
entirely  blameless,  Mr.  Baily,"  Harry  de- 
clared, no  longer  able  to  restrain  his 
opinions.  "  You  held  back  from  making 
contracts,  hoping  for  a  rainy  season, 
thinking  if  it  came  you  could  get  along 
without  ditch  water;  and  at  the  same  time 
you  knew  that  the  Golconda  Company 
needed  the  money  it  could  have  borrowed 
on  your  water  notes,  for  the  purpose  of 
putting  the  ditches  and  dam  in  order. 
It  couldn't  get  the  money,  and  it  couldn't 


THE    YOUNG  D1TCH-BWEB. 


do  the  work  in  time.  Perhaps  it  didn't 
try  hard  enough.  But  you  should  be 
willing  to  share  the  responsibility." 

But  the  young  ditch-rider  found,  as  he 
had  found  before,  that  an  argument  with 
Mr.  Baily  was  a  mere  waste  of  words. 

Neither  was  in  good  temper  when  the 
Purcell  pre-emption  was  reached.  The 
old  bitterness  of  feeling  rankled  anew, 
and  Harry  felt  especially  hurt  by  certain 
hints  thrown  out  by  the  old  farmer  to  the 
effect  that  matters  would  not  now  be  so 
bad  if  the  ditch-rider  had  always  done  his 
duty. 

Harry  dismounted  in  front  of  his 
humble  home,  drew  the  rein  over  the 
pony's  head,  that  it  might  trail  on  the 
ground  and  keep  the  trained  pony  from 
straying,  and  ran  into  the  house  to  speak 
a  word  with  his  mother. 

Baily  did  not  dismount,  but  rode  across 
the  unfenced  alfalfa  field  that  lay  west 
of  the  house,  and  on  to  the  bend  of  the 
ditch  where  Harry  had  set  his  mother's 
water-gate. 

As  Harry  came  out  he  saw  Baily  swing 
to  the  ground  at  the  gate  and  stoop 
down  as  if  to  examine  it.  Then  Harry 
mounted  and  galloped  toward  him,  going 
around  the  field  instead  of  straight  across 
it. 

He  was  almost  to  the  ditch  before  he 
discovered  what  had  drawn  Baily's  atten- 
tion. Then  he  fairly  reeled  in  the  sad- 
dle, while  a  dizzying  sense  of  astonish- 
ment and  uncertainty  overwhelmed  him. 


His  mother's  water-gate  was  wide  open! 
The  expected  rise  had  come  and  the  main 
canal  was  half  full;  but  the  open  water- 
gate  was  draining  the  entire  flow  into 
the  Purcell  alfalfa  field!  What  did  it 
mean? 

Dashing  his  heels  against  the  pony's 
flanks,  Harry  sent  it  on  with  quick 
bounds  until  it  reached  the  point  occu- 
pied by  Baily.  Then  he  saw  that  the 
water-gate  was  not  only  open,  but  that  it 
was  locked  open,  and  that  the  usual  dam 
—  a  board  backed  with  sod  and  earth  — 
had  been  placed  across  the  canal  for  the 
purpose  of  diverting  into  the  field  all 
the  water  the  canal  might  contain.  The 
full  extent  of  the  damaging  discovery 
rendered  him  almost  speechless. 

Harry  looked  anxiously  and  puzzledly 
at  the  irate  old  man,  who  now  faced  him 
like  an  accusing  angel.  Who  could  have 
opened  the  water-gate  in  that  manner? 
This  was  the  question  Harry  asked  him- 
self, and  which  received  no  reply. 

"No  more'n  I  expected!"  Baily 
snarled.  "  I've  said  from  the  first  that 
the  Purcell  crops  wouldn't  never  go  beg- 
gin'  for  water!  You  didn't  think  I'd 
come  round  by  this  bend;  but  you  see  I 
did!" 

"Stop  that,  Mr.  Baily!"  Harry  com- 
manded, anger  quivering  up  through  his 
amazement.  "  I  never  opened  that  gate!" 

Then  he  saw  that  the  old  farmer  was 
fairly  shaking  with  rage. 

"  I've  no  more  idea  how  this  thing  hap- 


THE   YOUNG  DITCB-BLDEB. 

pened  than  you  have.     I  didn't  do  it; 
and  I'm  sure  mother  didn't!" 

Baily    stared     disbelievingly.     "  Who 
else  would   want  to  do  it?     Who   else 


As  he  paused  from  his  exertions,  Baily 
was  climbing  slowly  into  the  saddle. 

"  I'd  like  a  little  o'  that  water,  thank 
ye,  and  will  ride  back  home  to  be  ready 


"Answer  me  that:*' 


would  have  any  reason  to?    Answer  me 
that!" 

Harry  did  not  stop  to  reply.  He 
leaped  down  and  hastily  tore  out  the  ob- 
structing dam;  then,  taking  a  bunch  of 
keys  from  his  pocket,  he  unlocked  and 
lowered  the  gate. 


fer  it  when  it  comes.  I  reckon  you'll  go 
right  on  down  and  set  the  gates,  now?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry,  his  thoughts  all 
awhirl.  "  I'll  come  right  on  down.  But 
you  mustn't  think  that  I  opened  this 
gate;  for,  on  my  honor,  I  didn't!" 

Baily  galloped  away  without  rsjolying; 


8 


THE    YOUNG 


and  Harry  Pureell,  leaving  his  mother's 
gate  tightly  closed,  confusedly  mounted 
the  buckskin  pony  and  splashed  inquir- 
ingly across  the  alfalfa  field,  where  the 
water  stood  four  and  five  inches  deep. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  upper 
portion  of  the  alfalfa  field  was  secure  for 
a  time  against  the  effects  of  the  drouth 
and  hot  winds.  The  black  soil  was  a  per- 
fect muck,  into  which  the  pony  sunk  to 
the  fetlocks.  The  gate  must  have  been 
open  for  hours. 

Harry  looked  over  the  field  with  deep 
concern.  The  fact  that  the  alfalfa  was 
safe  gave  him  pain  instead  of  pleasure. 
Other  fields  were  withering  for  lack  of  the 
water  that  had  soaked  into  this  soil,  and 
it  had  been  made  his  duty  to  see  that  they 
got  their  share.  How  was  he  to  explain 
away  this  piece  of  apparently  criminal 
selfishness?  How  was  he  to  establish  his 
innocence  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors? 


CHAPTEE  II. 

BAILY    BECOMES    AGGRESSIVE. 

BECAME  clear  to  the 
mind  of  Harry  Pureell 
that  the  water-gate  had 
been  opened  by  some  one 
who  desired  to  injure 
him  in  the  eyes  of  the 
ditch  patrons.  Who  that  enemy  was, 
only  time  and  the  run  of  events  could  de- 


DITCH-EWEB. 

cide.  His  present  duty  was  to  ride  down 
the  ditch  and  make  the  gates  ready  to  re- 
ceive the  water. 

However,  no  great  haste  was  required. 
The  water  filled  the  dry  ditch  slowly 
enough.  It  would  take  nearly  an  hour's 
time  for  it  to  reach  Baily's. 

Therefore,  he  turned  homeward, 
anxious  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  his 
mother,  and  yet  shrinking  from  acquaint- 
ing her  with  his  startling  discovery. 

Mrs.  Pureell  came  out  of  the  door  as  he 
neared  the  house.  She  had  seen  Baily 
ride  furiously  away;  and  Harry's  return, 
after  he  had  announced  his  intention  of 
going  to  the  river,  told  her  something  was 
wrong.  She  saw  the  look  of  pain  and 
annoyance  on  her  son's  face,  and  her  own 
sympathetic  countenance  reflected  it. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"  We  found  the  gate  wide  open  when 
we  went  up  there  and  a  dam  in  the  ditch. 
The  upper  end  of  the  alfalfa  is  all  afloat. 
It  must  have  been  running  since  in  the 
night,  by  the  looks  of  it." 

Mrs.  Pureell,  who  had  been  wiping  her 
hands  on  her  apron,  contracted  her  fingers 
in  a  sudden  spasm  within  its  folds. 

"Why,  how  —  who  opened  it?"  she 
faltered. 

"  I  only  wish  I  knew!  Mr.  Baily's 
hopping  mad,  of  course;  and  I  don't 
know  as  I  can  blame  him.  He  thinks  I 
did  it  to  steal  the  water!" 

"  Oh,  Harry!" 

Mrs.  Pureell  could  not  at  the  moment 


THE    YOUNG    BITCH-BIDEB. 


say  more  —  did  not  need  to  say  more  — 
to  express  the  fullness  of  her  feelings; 
but  her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears,  and 
Harry  noticed  that  when  she  smoothed 
down  the  apron  her  hands  shook. 

"  I  told  him  I  didn't,  but  I  could  see 
he  wouldn't  believe  me;  and  I  reckon 
there  can't  be  any  doubt  he'll  repeat  it 
all  around,  and  be  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity!" 

"  You  must  tell  him  again  that  you 
didn't  do  it,  Harry!  Be  careful  how  you 
approach  him,  though!  I  don't  suppose 
it  could  have  been  the  work  of  one  of  the 
Carmon  boys?  They  don't  like  you,  you 
know!" 

Harry  ran  his  fingers  thoughtfully 
through  the  pony's  mane. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  either  Ike  or  Joe 
would  do  a  trick  like  that.  They  might 
meet  me  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and 
knock  me  down,  but  they're  not  under- 
handed." 

"Well,  my  son,  do  not  let  us  be  dis- 
couraged or  unhappy  over  this,  although 
it  does  look  very  dark.  You  have  the 
support  of  your  own  conscious  integrity; 
the  undoubting  faith  of  your  mother  in 
your  honesty  of  purpose  and  action;  and 
you  pray  daily  '  Deliver  us  from  evil.' 
Can  you  not  trust  the  Master  to  answer 
your  prayer?" 

"  I  will  try,  mother,  but  it  is  very  hard 
to  bear  suspicion  when  one  is  innocent." 

"Far  easier,  my  son,  than  if  you  were 
guilty,  for  then  you  would  have  not  only 


the  reproach  of  men,  but  your  own  con- 
science to  add  to  your  misery.  '  Com- 
mit thy  way  unto  the  Lord;  trust  also  in 
him,  and  he  shall  bring  it  to  pass.' " 

"  Well,  I've  shut  off  all  the  water,  and 
now  I'm  going  down  to  open  Baily's  gate. 
I'll  be  careful  what  I  say  to  him,"  as  he 
saw  her  lips  opening  again  in  warning. 

Then  he  clattered  away  across  the 
dusty  trail,  and  on  through  the  buffalo 
grass,  which  was  as  dry  in  that  month  of 
June  as  if  cured  for  hay. 

Baily  had  his  team  out  and  was  plowing 
some  furrows  across  his  wheat  field,  to 
draw  the  water  and  cause  it  to  spread 
more  rapidly  when  it  came.  He  did  not 
come  up  to  the  water-gate;  and,  when  it 
had  been  set  and  locked,  Harry  rode  on 
down  the  ditch  toward  the  other  farms, 
relieved  that  he  had  an  excuse  for  not  ap- 
proaching the  cross-grained  old  farmer. 

There  were  many  places  to  visit  and 
many  gates  to  set,  weary  miles  to  be  trav- 
ersed, and  many  men  with  many  griev- 
ances to  encounter.  Harry  did  his  work 
faithfully  and  well,  glad  to  assure  the 
settlers  that  the  long-expected  rise  was  at 
hand.  But  to  none  of  them  did  he  find 
courage  to  speak  of  the  opened  water- 
gate,  though  he  felt  sure  an  uncharitable 
account  of  it  would  soon  be  poured  into 
their  ears. 

When  he  returned  home  the  afternoon 
was  far  spent.  The  mid-day  meal,  long 
kept  warm  for  him,  had  grown  cold.  Be- 
fore eating  it  he  rode  to  the  gate  which 


10 


THE    YOUNG  EITCH-BWEE. 


he  had  so  tightly  locked,  set  it  to  the 
proper  limit,  and  turned  the  water  into 
the  lateral  that  led  to  the  wheat.  All 
the  farmers  on  that  line  of  ditch  were  re- 
ceiving their  stipulated  flow  and  the  ditch 
was  brimming.  He  saw  no  good  reason 
why  the  work  of  an  enemy  should  cause 
his  mother's  crops  to  be  stinted  now. 

His  mother  went  into  the  field  with 
him  after  dinner,  and  together  they 
worked  till  dark  in  their  efforts  to  lead 
the  water  over  as  much  ground  as  pos- 
sible. When  they  were  forced  to  stop  by 
reason  of  the  darkness,  Harry  left  the 
water  running  into  the  lateral,  as  he  had 
a  right  to  do,  and  in  the  morning  was 
gratified  to  find  that  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  the  field  had  been  satisfactorily 
covered. 

Though  the  work  of  irrigating  was  too 
hard  for  a  woman,  Mrs.  Purcell  con- 
tinued it  through  that  day  and  the  next; 
while  Harry  rode  the  ditch,  helping  her 
an  hour  or  so  at  a  time  as  he  found  oppor- 
tunity. 

The  farmers  were  in  better  spirits.  It 
seemed  that,  after  all,  the  crops  would 
not  be  a  failure.  The  wheat  and  oats 
would  be  short,  but  much  might  yet  be 
done  with  this  productive  soil;  and, 
though  the  hot  winds  still  blew,  their 
power  to  harm  was  stayed. 

The  second  morning,  when  Harry  went 
into  the  alfalfa  field,  which  still  needed 
water  along  its  lower  slopes,  he  found  the 
water-gate  again  locked  wide  open,  as  on 


that  first  occasion.  He  looked  about, 
hoping  to  find  a  clew  to  the  perpetrator 
of  the  wrong,  but  saw  only  some  tracks, 
that  had  probably  been  made  the  previous 
day  by  his  own  wading-boots. 

He  went  back  to  the  house  much  per- 
turbed and  told  his  mother  of  his  dis- 
covery. 

"  I'm  going  to  watch  that  field  to- 
night! I've  shut  off  the  water,  and 
maybe  the  fellow  will  come  back  and  try 
it  again.  It's  some  one  who  wants  to  in- 
jure me.  Who  is  our  greatest  enemy, 
mother?"  He  looked  her  straight  in  the 
face.  "  I  believe  it  has  been  in  your 
thought  for  some  time,  just  as  it's  been  in 
mine,  that  it  may  have  been  the  work  of 
Mr.  Baily!" 

"  I'm  afraid  we  do  him  wrong, 
though!"  she  protested.  "You  won't 
hint  it  to  anybody?" 

"  No;  but  I'm  going  to  watch  the  field 
to-night." 

A  thought  of  the  danger  he  might  in- 
cur flashed  on  her  and  made  her  endeavor, 
somewhat  feebly,  to  dissuade  him  from 
his  purpose;  but  he  was  firm  in  his  de- 
termination. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  he  entered 
the  field.  He  had  sat  by  the  west  win- 
dow a  long  time  watching  the  field  by 
-the  light  of  the  moon.  Now  the  moon 
had  gone  down.  But  in  that  dry,  thin 
atmosphere  the  stars  shone  with  wondrous 
brilliance. 

As  he  walked  along  the  embankment, 


THE   YOVNG  DITCH-BIDEB. 


11 


a  prairie  dog  owl,  disturbed  from  its 
position  on  a  mound,  flew  scolding  and 
chattering  about  his  head;  and  a  big, 
gray  jack-rabbit,  that  had  been  feeding 
in  the  alfalfa,  leaped  away  for  a  dozen 
yards  with  jerky  bounds,  then  uplifted 
itself  on  its  hind  legs  on  the  margin  of  a 
lateral,  a  ghostly  shape  in  the  uncertain 
light. 

The  tired  youth  cast  himself  down  on 
the  dry  embankment  some  distance  from 
the  water-gate  and  began  his  lonesome 
vigil.  As  he  looked  up  at  the  stars,  that 
seemed  so  like  luminous  gems  or  points 
of  fire,  and  reflected  that  the  skies  of  the 
Orient  were  as  bright,  he  could  not  won- 
der that  the  Chaldeans  became  astrono- 
mers and  astrologers;  and  the  story  of  the 
watching  Judean  shepherds  took  on  new 
meaning.  Crickets  chirped  in  the  grass, 
some  joyous  frogs  croaked  in  a  depression 
in  the  field  which  the  ditch  water  had 
bountifully  filled,  and  a  few  belated  in- 
sects buzzed  about  his  ears. 

He  knew  that  his  mother  was  watching 
by  the  window,  where  he  had  left  her, 
filled  with  anxiety  for  his  safety,  and  lift- 
ing up  her  steadfast  heart  in  prayer  that 
the  threatened  evil  might  be  averted  or 
made  a  messenger  for  good.  He  did  not 
intend  to  molest  the  wrong-doer,  should 
that  person  come  again,  but  thoughts  of 
what  might  grow  out  of  such  a  visit  and 
discovery  were  sufficient  to  keep  his  mind 
abnormally  active  and  drive  away  all  de- 
sire for  sleep. 


But  the  drowsiness  came  after  awhile, 
and  his  head  dropped  on  the  ground.  A 
sudden  outbreak  of  hideous  sound  sent  a 
thrill  through  him  and  awoke  him  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  fairly  asleep.  He 
sat  up  on  the  embankment  and  rubbed  his 
eyes.  On  the  ridge,  a  half  mile  distant, 
some  coyotes  had  broken  into  pursuit  of 
a  jack-rabbit.  Whether  there  were  two  or 
a  half-dozen  he  could  not  tell,  as  that 
chorus  of  yelping  and  "ki-yi-ing"  shrilled 
through  the  night. 

The  sounds  swept  on  over  the  ridge  and 
across  the  plains,  growing  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  finally  ceased.  Probably  the 
coyotes  had  caught  the  unfortunate 
"  jack  ";  a  thing  not  at  all  certain,  how- 
ever, as  the  jack  is  blessed  with  wonder- 
ful legs  and  dodging  abilities. 

Then  something  moved  between  the 
watcher  and  the  western  sky;  and,  flatten- 
ing himself  on  the  embankment,  Harry 
saw  a  man  walk  down  along  the  ditch  and 
step  into  the  alfalfa  field.  He  could  not 
make  out  the  form,  and  the  face  was 
wholly  invisible. 

His  heart  leaped  and  his  nerves  tingled 
as  he  fancied  this  was  the  individual  who 
had  opened  the  water-gate  and  dammed 
the  ditch. 

He  was  surprised,  though,  when  the 
man,  on  entering  the  field,  dropped  softly 
to  the  earth  instead  of  advancing  to  the 
gate. 

The  man  disappeared  from  sight  when 
he  dropped  down.      Harry  marked  the 


12 


THE    YOUNG  DITCH-EIDER. 


spot  and  watched  it  a  long  time  with 
breathless  earnestness,  but  could  observe 
no  motion.  A  little  mound  seemed  to 
have  grown  there,  and  he  fancied  this 
mound  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the 
man;  but  of  even  this  he  could  not  be 
sure. 

He  feared  to  move  on  the  embankment 
lest  he  should  be  seen,  and,  his  position 
growing  cramped,  he  slowly  and  carefully 
stretched  out  one  leg  and  then  the  other, 
to  relieve  them.  The  mound  in  the 
alfalfa  did  not  stir.  Everything  was  so 
still  that  Harry  fancied  he  could  hear  his 
own  heart  beat.  He  could  certainly  feel 
its  thumping,  and  the  arteries  in  his  neck 
seemed  to  swell  and  grow  warm.  The 
trembling  that  at  first  affected  him  sub- 
sided after  awhile,  though  it  left  him  with 
a  feeling  of  muscular  weakness. 

The  vigil  that  followed  was  tedious  and 
trying.  The  stars  swung  slowly  westward 
and  the  night  grew  chillingly  cold. 
Finally  a  silvery  gray  crept  into  the 
eastern  sky,  forerunner  of  the  dawn. 

Then  the  mound  stirred.  It  lifted  and 
resolved  itself  again  into  a  man.  It 
walked  and  approached  the  water-gate. 
It  stopped  on  the  embankment  and 
stooped  down  to  inspect  the  gate  and 
ditch.  Harry  PurcelPs  heart  gave  a 
greater  bound  than  at  first.  The  man 
was  Mr.  Baily! 

Baily  did  not  tarry  long  beside  the 
ditch.  The  brightening  in  the  east 
warned  him  to  be  gone,  and  he  set  off 


down  the  embankment  and  was  soon  lost 
to  view.  Not  until  he  was  well  out  of 
sight  did  the  mystified  ditch-rider  venture 
to  sit  up. 

Then  the  meaning  of  what  he  had  be- 
held grew  clear  to  him.  Taking  it  for 
granted  that  Baily  had  come  to  open  the 
gate,  Harry  had  been  sorely  puzzled  to 
account  for  the  fact  that  not  even  a  finger 
had  been  placed  on  the  lock.  Now  he 
saw  that  he  had  misjudged  the  man. 
Baily  had  not  come  to  open  the  gate  — 
his  stealthy  visit  to  the  field  had  been  in 
the  hope  of  catching  Harry  in  the  act. 

The  young  ditch  -  rider  blew  out  his 
breath  in  a  whistle  of  surprise. 

"  If  he  feels  that  way  about  it,  it  can't 
be  that  he  opened  it  himself!" 

He  walked  back  to  the  house  thought- 
ful and  puzzled.  His  mother,  who  had 
fallen  asleep  in  her  chair  by  the  window, 
awoke,  cramped  and  cold,  as  be  stepped 
through  the  doorway. 

"  Poor  little  mother!"  he  said,  smooth- 
ing her  hair  affectionately.  "  You  should 
not  have  tried  to  sit  up!" 

"I  declare,  if  it  isn't  daylight!"  as  she 
glanced  through  the  window. 

Then  he  told  her  of  what  he  had  seen 
and  of  his  conclusions. 

She  was  a  perfectly  honest  little  body 
and  able  to  deal  justly  even  with  Rich- 
mond Baily.  She  recognized  in  the  dis- 
covery absolute  proof  of  Baily's  innocence 
of  the  thing  with  which  they  had  charged 
him. 


TEE   YOUNG  DITCH-BIDHB. 


13 


"Well,  he  didn't  catch  me  tampering 
with  the  gate,  and  I  expect  that  disap- 
pointed him!"  Harry  asserted.     "Now  I 


The  man  was  Mr.  Baily!— See  page  12. 


14 


THE   YOUNG  DITCH-BIDE R. 


must  feed  the  stock.  I  guess  it  won't 
surprise  them  to  hurt  if  they  get  their 
breakfast  a  little  early." 

After  again  talking  the  matter  over 
with  his  mother,  Harry  determined  to 
confide  his  troubles  to  Jason  Bigelow. 
Bigelow  lived  two  or  three  miles  away, 
but  on  the  same  lateral  or  branch  canal. 
He  was  from  Ohio,  as  were  the  Purcells, 
and  State  ties  count  for  much  when  there 
are  no  closer  bonds.  He  was  a  sensible 
man,  able  to  give  good  advice  if  nothing 
else. 

So  Harry  rode  over  to  Bigelow's  and 
told  his  troubles.  Bigelow  listened  with 
quiet  attention,  making  no  comment 
until  the  boy  had  finished. 

"  I've  heard  a  little  something  about 
that,  though  I  wasn't  prepared  to  believe 
you  guilty." 

Harry's  face  flushed.  "  Mr.  Baily  told 
you,  of  course?" 

"No,  Mr.  Baily  didn't  tell  me.  He 
told  Lee's  folks  about  it,  though,  and  one 
of  the  Lee  boys  told  me.  Baily  says  he 
is  sure  you  opened  the  gate.  Of  course 
such  a  report  will  hurt  you,  if  it  is  not 
contradicted.  I'm  glad  you've  spoken  to 
me  and  explained  the  thing,  for  now  I'll 
know  what  to  say,  whenever  it's  men- 
tioned." 

As  he  departed  from  Bigelow's  and 
went  on  to  ride  the  ditch  Harry  expected 
to  see  an  accusation  in  every  face.  But 
there  was  little,  if  anything,  of  the  kind. 
The  farmers  were  too  busy  and  withal 


too  glad  to  get  the  water,  to  give  much 
heed  to  anything  but  the  work  that  now 
pressed  them. 

But  before  nightfall  he  heard  from  two 
other  men  that  Baily  had  been  circulating 
the  damaging  report.  The  men  volun- 
teered the  information,  begging  to  assure 
him  they  did  not  believe  it;  for  all  of 
which  he  expressed  his  gratitude. 

"  If  I  was  you  I'd  go  to  Baily  and  I'd 
say  to  him  flatly  that  he  had  to  stop  it," 
one  of  the  men  advised;  and  with  the 
words  ringing  in  his  ears  Harry  galloped 
home. 

He  did  not  sleep  much  that  night;  and 
the  next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  had  fin- 
ished certain  work  that  claimed  his  atten- 
tion, he  set  out  to  make  another  call  on 
Mr.  Bigelow. 

The  big  ditch  was  brimming  full  of 
water  that  morning,  a  thing  calculated 
to  make  his  heart  glad. 

Before  comiDg  to  Bigelow's,  and  when 
full  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  build- 
ings, he  reined  in  beside  a  boy  who  was 
utilizing  the  overflow  of  the  ditch  to- 
drown  out  a  small  colony  of  prairie  dogs. 

It  was  Bigelow's  boy,  Billy,  a  lively 
urchin  of  nine  or  ten,  who  had  his 
trousers  rolled  up  and  was  splashing 
about  in  much  excitement. 

The  embankments  were  rather  low  at 
that  point,  and  the  brimming  ditch 
spilled  some  of  its  contents  into  the  buf- 
falo grass.  With  a  long-handled  irrigat- 
ing spade  Billy  Bigelow  had  excavated  a 


TEE   YOUNG  DITCH-MDER. 


15 


small  trench,  that  led  from  the  little 
hollow  where  the  waters  were  collect- 
ing to  the  nearest  dog  hole,  and  he  was 
now  ready  to  turn  the  water  into  the 
hole. 

On  the  grass  near  by,  tied  up  snug  and 
fast,  were  two  hapless  dogs,  that  squirmed 
in  wild  alarm  as  the  pony's  feet  trampled 
near  them.  They  were  rolly-poly  fellows, 
With  fat  cheeks,  round  bodies  and  short 
tails,  looking  something  like  squirrels  but 
not  at  all  like  dogs. 

Billy  Bigelow  was  deep  in  a  big  specu- 
lation. The  stage  to  Cactus  Crossing  ran 
close  by  his  father's  door,  and  he  fre- 
quently had  opportunity  to  sell  tame 
prairie  dogs  to  the  passengers,  who  car- 
ried them  to  their  Eastern  homes  as 
curiosities.  Heretofore,  what  prairie 
dogs  Billy  had  been  able  to  obtain  he  had 
caught  with  a  steel  trap  whose  jaws  were 
wound  with  cloth.  But  the  dogs  were 
wary  and  hard  to  catch  with  the  trap. 
Now,  with  the  overflow,  Billy  believed  it 
possible  to  drown  out  and  secure  the 
whole  colony.  It  was  a  stupendous  en- 
terprise, for  live  prairie  dogs  had  some- 
times brought  as  high  as  fifty  cents 
apiece. 

"Now  jist  watch  him  come  a-bilin'!" 
Billy  yelled,  tearing  out  with  his  fingers 
the  little  clam  that  barred  the  water  from 
the  hole,  and  slipping  his  muddy  right 
hand  into  a  cast-off  leather  glove. 

For  the  moment  Harry  Purcell  forgot 
the  errand   which   had  brought  him   to 


Bigelow's,  and  watched  Billy  with  boyish 
interest. 

The  accumulated  water  gurgled  into 
the  hole  for  several  seconds  at  a  lively 
rate.  Then  a  badly-scared  and  half- 
drowned  prairie  dog  scrambled  out  ahead 
of  the  water  that  was  rising  in  the  hole 
and  popped  into  .  Billy's  gloved  hand. 
It  fought  and  bit,  as  a  rat  might  have 
done;  but  Billy  quickly  slipped  over  its 
feet  and  neck  some  ready-made  nooses 
and  had  it  kicking  helplessly  on  the  grass 
beside  the  others. 

"Well,  I  must  ride  on  to  the  house, 
for  I  want  to  see  your  father,"  Harry  de- 
clared. 

Whereupon,  Billy  leaped  up,  with  a 
flushed  face,  and  began  to  fish  for  some- 
thing in  one  of  his  pockets. 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  it.  Pa 
wanted  to  see  you  this  morning,  but  he 
had  to  go  away,  and  he  told  me  to  come 
out  here  by  the  ditch  and  give  you  this 
letter  when  you  went  past." 

He  drew  out  a  folded  piece  of  paper, 
which,  covered  with  muddy  finger-prints, 
he  handed  up  to  the  young  ditch-rider. 

Harry  hastily  pulled  it  open  and  read, 
with  paling  cheeks: 

"  Mr.  Baily  is  circulating  a  petition  among 
the  ditch  patrons  asking  the  manager  to  re- 
move you  from  your  position,  and  he  has  got 
several  of  them  to  sign  it.  He  asked  me,  but  I 
refused,  and  told  him  I  thought  he  was  en- 
gaged in  a  mighty  small  piece  of  business,  and 
that  I  felt  sure  you  hadn't  done  the-  things  he 
charged.  I  won't  get  to  see  you  to-day,  ;.s  I 
have  to  go  to  town;  but  I  write  this  to  put  /ou 


16 


THE    YOUNG  BITCH-BIDEB. 


on  your  guard.  Head  him  off!  That  is  my 
advice.  Write  to  the  manager  and  tell  him 
everything  and  refer  him  to  me.  You  can  get 
your  letter  there  ahead  of  Baily's  petition,  if 
you're  quick  about  it.       Your  friend, 

Jason  Bigelow  ' 


CHAPTEE  III. 

A  SERIOUS  ACCUSATION. 

AILY'S    amazing 

accusation  angered 
Harry     Pur  cell; 
and  when  he  had 
reread       Bigelow's 
letter,    to    make 
sure  he  could  not 
be  mistaken  in  the 
character    of    its 
contents,   he   hast- 
ened home,  resolved  to  follow  Bigelow's 
advice  and  hurry  an  explanation  to  the 
manager  of  the  Goleonda. 

This  explanation  was  not  easy  to  pen; 
for,  when  he  sat  down  to  commit  the 
whole  matter  to  paper,  he  found  the 
story  a  very  long  one.  He  did  not  want 
to  he  tedious,  but  he  did  want  to  set  him- 
self right  in  the  eyes  of  the  manager 
and  to  make  that  gentleman  understand 
how  earnestly  he  was  striving  to  fulfill 
the  duties  of  his  position. 

When  he  had  finished  .the  letter,  he 
Tead  it  aloud  to  his  mother;  and,  as  she 
found  nothing  objectionable  in  it,  he 
placed  it  in  a  stamped  envelope,  which  he 


addressed,  and  then  walked  out  to  the 
trail  over  which  the  star-route  mail  car- 
rier passed  each  day  about  noon  on  his 
way  to  Golden  City. 

Harry  stood  by  the  side  of  the  trail 
with  the  letter  in  his  hand  until  the  car- 
rier drew  up  and  reached  out  to  take  it. 
The  pony  and  buckboard,  as  well  as  the 
driver,  were  splashed  with  muddy  water. 

"  The  ditch  has  been  running  over  at 
the  first  bridge,"  the  carrier  reported. 
"I  had  to  go  around  a  little,  and  the 
wheels  cut  the  bank  some.  I  got  out  and 
fixed  the  break  as  well  as  I  could,  but 
maybe  you'd  better  look  after  it." 

To  this  task  Harry  devoted  himself 
without  delay,  and  then  returned  to  the 
house  to  get  his  dinner. 

"  I'm  going  over  to  see  Mr.  Baily,"  he 
announced,  when  the  meal  was  finished. 
"I'll  be  careful  to  say  nothing  at  which 
he  can  get  offended,  but  I  shall  insist 
that  he's  decidedly  mistaken  in  thinking 
I  opened  the  water-gate,  and  that  he's 
doing  me  a  wrong  in  telling  it." 

"  You  won't  get  into  a  quarrel  with 
him,  Harry?"  Mrs.  Purcell  begged.  "  I 
don't  know  but  that  you  ought  to  keep 
away  from  him  entirely." 

She  did  not  urge  him  to  forego  the 
visit,  however.  She  was  quite  as  anxious 
as  he  that  the  damaging  reports  should 
cease.  She  could  see  how  the  thing  was 
telling  on  him.  He  was  not  looking  well, 
and  her  mother's  keen  eyes  told  her  that 
the  worry  and  hard  work  were  threatening 


THE   YOUNG  DITCH-B1DEB. 


17 


to  break  him  down.  He  had  long  ceased 
to  enjoy  sound  sleep. 

Baily  was  running  some  streams  of 
water  down  the  rows  of  Kaffir  corn,  as 
Harry  rode  into  the  field.  He  stopped 
the  work  to  look  up  inquiringly,  and 
frowned  when  he  saw  who  the  visitor  was. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  that 
water-gate,"  said  Harry,  controlling  his 
feelings  as  well  as  he  could.  "  I  believe 
you'll  be  willing  to  treat  me  fairly,  if  I 
can  convince  you  that  you're  mistaken 
about  the  matter." 

Baily's  face  grew  red  and  he  lifted  a 
hand  angrily. 

"  I've  seen  enough  of  you,  young  man, 
to  know  that  I  don't  want  to  see  any  more 
of  you,  and  the  less  we  have  to  do  with 
each  other  the  better!  If  you  say  any- 
thing it  will  only  be  to  tell  lies.  When  I 
know  a  thing  I  know  it,  and  that  ends 
it!" 

"But  you  can  be  mistaken!"  Harry 
protested. 

Baily  again  waved  his  hand. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything!  Not 
a  thing!" 

Harry  sat  quite  still  for  a .  moment, 
vexation  and  anger  filling  him  and  threat- 
ening to  break  out  in  words.  Then  he 
mastered  his  feelings  and  turned  away. 
It  was  quite  useless,  he  saw,  to  try  to  rea- 
son with  Mr.  Baily;  even  worse  than  use- 
less. 

There  was  a  choking  lump  in  his  throat 
and  blinding  tear-drops  in  his  eyes  as  he 


galloped  the  pony  up  along  the  ditch. 
Back  of  the  lump  and  the  tears  was  the 
sting  of  wounded  pride.  Baily's  manner 
had  been  crushingly  cruel. 

"  It's  strange  how  mean  some  men  can 
be!  But  I'll  make  him  sorry  for  that  yet! 
I'll  show  him  that  he's  mistaken  when  he 
thinks  I  could  stoop  to  so  low  a  trick!" 

How  that  was  to  be  shown,  though,  the 
young  ditch-rider  could  not  have  told. 

The  ditch  was  nearly  empty  the  next 
morning,  and,  when  Harry  rode  to  the 
river  to  ascertain  the  cause,  he  found 
that  some  large  holes  had  been  washed  in 
the  dam. 

It  was  a  cheap  and  unsubstantial 
structure  of  sod,  that  ran  diagonally  up 
.the  river  for  nearly  a  fourth  of  a  mile  but 
did  not  cross  it.  Its  purpose  was  to  divert 
water  from  the  channel  into  the  Gol- 
conda  Company's  main  canal.  It  an- 
swered well  enough  so  long  as  it' held  to- 
gether. But  floods  weakened  it  and  fre- 
quently carried  portions  of  it  away;  so 
that  often  when  water  was  most  needed 
and  there  was  an  abundance  in  the  river 
the  crops  were  wilting  from  drouth. 

This  was  of  course  the  fault  of  the  Gol- 
conda  Company,  which,  from  the  start, 
had  pursued  a  penny-wise-and-pound- 
foolish  policy.  The  company  plainly 
wanted  to  make  a  great  dea'l  of  money 
from  a  comparatively  meager  investment, 
always  a  difficult  thing  to  do. 

Harry  wrote  another  letter  to  the  man- 
ager that  day,  telling  him  of  the   con- 


18 


TEE    YOUNG  D1TCH-BIBEB. 


dition  of  the  wing  dam  and  asking  that  he 
might  be  authorized  to  repair  it  in  a  man- 
ner to  make  it  practically  secure. 

He  gave  this  letter  also  to  the  mail  car- 
rier, and  then,  with  some  young  men 
whom  he  secured  to  help  him,  he  went  to 
work  to  repair  the  damage  as  well  as  he 
could  in  an  inexpensive  manner.  Bags 
of  sand  were  sunk  in  the  crevasses  until 
the  bottom  of  the  wall  had  been  replaced; 
and  on  top  of  this,  a  barrier  of  earth  and 
sod  was  reared,  as  had  been  done  origin- 
ally. 

The  manager  believed  that  if  willows 
could  be  induced  to  grow  on  a  dam  of  this 
kind  it  would  in  time  become  stronger 
than  if  made  of  stone  or  timber.  Harry, 
therefore,  as  he  had  done  before,  set  wil- 
low cuttings  along  its  top.  The  dam 
looked  well  enough  when  done,  but  he 
feared  it  would  not  stand  the  strain.  Nor 
did  it.  A  spurt  in  the  river  two  days 
later  took  it  out  and  made  the  hole  bigger 
than  before. 

In  the  meantime  nothing  could  be 
heard  from  the  manager.  The  crops  be- 
gan to  need  another  watering.  Many  of 
the  farmers  had  not  been  able  to  cover 
all  their  cultivated  land,  and  the  fields 
that  remained  untouched  were  threatened 
with  utter  ruin. 

Harry  knew  that  the  farmers  had  just 
cause  for  complaint.  He  was  distressed, 
too,  by  the  non-arrival  of  a  letter  in  reply 
to  the  ones  he  had  sent. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all,  and  when  the 


work  and  worry  bore  hardest,  he  again 
found  the  water  -  gate  open  into  his 
mother's  alfalfa  field.  There  was  very 
little  water  in  the  ditch  at  the  time,  but 
that  little  was  being  forced  into  the  field 
as  before  by  a  dam  across  the  ditch. 

He  was  bewildered  and  indignant. 
The  mystery  of  these  repeated  openings 
of  the  water-gate  he  had  not  been  able  to 
fathom.  He  had  ceased  to  accuse  Baily 
of  the  deed.  Still,  he  could  not  doubt 
that  it  was  the  work  of  some  enemy  who 
was  desperately  determined  to  ruin  his 
reputation. 

The  matter  rested  so  heavily  on  him 
that  it  almost  unfitted  him  for  work.  He 
went  to  the  river  again  the  next  day,  and 
returned  home  much  belated.  Taking 
the  short  cut  by  Dutton's  school-house, 
he  saw  lights  flashing  from  the  windows, 
and  the  shapes  of  men  and  horses  moving 
between  him  and  them. 

He  turned  aside  and  approached  the 
building.  He  had  not  heard  that  there 
was  to  be  any  "literary"  or  other  meet- 
ing there  that  night.  This  was  strange, 
as  he  was  iisually  notified  of  such  events — 
for  they  were  really  events  in  the  lives  of 
the  people  whose  homes  clustered  along 
the  canals  and  laterals  of  the  Golconda 
Company. 

As  he  moved  towards  the  school-house, 
an  undefined  sense  of  impending  ill  came 
over  him.  Riding  up  to  the  hitching- 
rack  that  ran  along  the  rear  of  the  house, 
he  swung  half  out  of  the  saddle,  and  sat 


THE   YOUNG  DITCH-B1DEB. 


19 


thus,  unconscious  of  his  awkward  posi- 
tion, while  these  words  came  to  his 
ears. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  the  farmers  here 
must  build  and  own  their  own  ditch. 
They  can  do  it.  I'm  in  favor  of  forming 
an  irrigation  district  and  of  mortgaging 
our  farms  for  every  penny  they're  worth 
to  put  the  thing  through.  Then  we'll  be 
independent  of  this  thieving  company, 
and  of  the  men  who  run  it!" 

The  young  ditch-rider  swung  on  down 
to  the  ground,  removed  his  foot  from  the 
stirrup,  and  prepared  to  tie  the  pony  to 
the  rack. 

He  knew  now  that  an  indignation 
meeting  of  the  ditch  patrons  had  been 
called.  Such  a  thing  had  been  hinted  at 
more  than  once,  though  he  had  not 
thought  much  about  it.  Whether  the 
Golconda  Company  was  giving  as  good 
service  as  its  funds  would  permit,  was  an 
open  question.  But  that  the  farmers 
could  construct  and  operate  a  ditch  of 
their  own  was  not  an  open  question  with 
him.  He  felt  sure  they  could  not.  Many 
of  them  were  hovering  on  the  verge  of 
want,  and  there  were  few  indeed  whose 
places  and  stock  were  not  mortgaged  for 
greater  or  less  sums,  obtained  to  help 
them  along  when  they  began  the  new  life 
on  the  plains. 

Before  he  had  got  his  lariat  fast  to  the 
pole,  a  man  came  around  the  corner  of 
the  school-house.  It  was  Bigelow,  who 
had  stepped  out  to  make  sure  his  pony 


was  all  right.  He  saw  Harry,  but  did  not 
recognize  him  in  the  darkness  until  Harry 
spoke. 

Bigelow  hesitated  before  replying. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  about  this 
meeting,  I  reckon,  for  I  was  informed  of 
it  yesterday;  but  I  didn't  see  that  it  would 
do  you  any  good,  and  I  thought  it  might 
do  harm,  for  I  fancied  maybe  you'd  want 
to  attend.  That's  something  I'd  advise 
you  not  to  do.  The  farmers  are  mad  and 
Baily  is  stirring  them  up.  You're  not 
authorized  to  do  anything,  you  see,  and 
when  they  jump  on  you  about  the  way 
the  ditch  business  is  being  run,  as  they're 
sure  to  do,  you  won't  be  able  to  give  any 
answers  that  will  please  them. 

"  I'll  see  that  you  get  a  fair  representa- 
tion, Harry.  Better  go  on  home  and 
never  speak  as  if  you  knew  such  a  meet- 
ing had  been  held.  I'll  tell  you  to-mor- 
row what's  been  done.  They're  more 
mad  at  the  manager  than  at  you.  He 
didn't  do  just  the  square  thing  by  them 
last  spring,  they  think.  And  now  that 
wing  dam  is  about  the  last  straw!"  •  -, 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness, 
Mr.  Bigelow,  and  I'll  go  on  home  if  you 
think  I'd  better.  To-morrow,  if  I  get  no 
letter,  I'm  going  to  telegraph  the  man- 
ager, asking  authority  to  spend  a  hundred 
dollars  in  strengthening  the  dam.  I 
don't  see  why  I  haven't  heard  from  him." 

So  he  rode  on  home  and  Bigelow  went 
back  into  the  school-house. 

Harry  Purcell  slept  less  that  night  than 


20 


TEE    YOUNG   D1TCE-B1DER. 


usual.  In  imagination  he  heard  the 
angry  words  of  the  farmers  and  the  accus- 
ing tones  of  Richmond  Baily. 

He  learned  the  next  morning  that  his 
worst  fears  fell  short  of  the  reality.  In- 
formation of  just  what  Baily  did  say  was 
brought  him  by  a  young  friend,  Jasper 
Stanton,  who  lived  in  the  second  section 
north. 

"  He  says  he's  been  lying  out  in  your 
alfalfa  fields  of  nights,  and  that  one  night, 
not  long  ago,  he  saw  you  come  into  the 
field  and  open  the  water-gate.  He  says 
you  opened  it  and  locked  it  open,  and  put 
the  dam  in  the  ditch.  He  says  he  saw 
you  do  it  as  plain  as  he  ever  saw  any- 
thing, and  that  he  knows  he  wasn't  mis- 
taken. He  held  back  telling  about  it,  it 
seems,  until  this  meeting,  when  the  farm- 
ers were  all  together." 

For  a  moment  Harry  was  too  astounded 
to  speak.     Then  he  stammered: 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it?  You 
didn't  believe  it?" 

"  I  think  he's  not  over-particular  about 
telling  the  truth." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Bigelow  do?" 

"He  didn't  seem  to  know  what  to  do. 
He  just  sat  there,  with  his  mouth  open, 
as  if  he  was  paralyzed.  But  after  awhile 
he  got  up  and  said  that  the  charge  was  a 
very  serious  one,  which  he  didn't  feel 
called  on  to  believe  until  you  had  been 
heard  in  your  own  behalf.  He  didn't  in- 
tend to  say,  he  said,  that  Mr.  Baily  did 
not  mean  to  tell  the  truth,  but  there  was 


still  a  chance  that  Mr.  Baily  was  mis- 
taken." 

"  And  no  one  else  said  a  word?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  was  a  good  deal  said. 
Mr.  Baily  declared  a  dozen  times  that  he 
knew  he  was  right.  And  then,  when  the 
meeting  was  over,  he  got  out  his  petition 
to  have  you  taken  off  the  ditch  and  asked 
nearly  every  one  to  sign  it." 

"  I'm  glad  some  one  was  there  who 
wasn't  willing  to  believe  such  a  thing  of 
me  right  off-hand.  There  isn't  a  word  of 
truth  in  it.  I  shall  go  straight  over  to 
Baily's  and  demand  of  him  why  he  told 
such  a  falsehood.  He's  got  to  answer  me, 
too!" 

A  hot  rage  had  been  kindled  in  the 
heart  of  the  young  ditch-rider.  His 
whole  being  rose  up  in  rebellion  against 
this  unjust  calumny.  A  sense  of  his  in- 
nocence sustained  him.  He  could  and 
would  resign  his  position,  if  that  was  de- 
sired; but  he  would  not  leave  the  place 
with  a  smirched  reputation.  That  must 
be  cleared.  Baily  had  made  positive 
statements.  They  should  be  explained  or 
retracted. 

Without  saying  anything  to  his  mother 
on  the  subject,  for  he  knew  how  the  news 
would  pain  her,  Harry  brought  the  buck- 
skin pony  out  of  the  stable,  saddled  and 
bridled  it  and  rode  away. 

His  indignation  did  not  decrease  as  he 
approached  the  Baily  residence.  It  grew, 
instead,  until  it  heated  his  veins  like  a 
fever. 


THE   YOUNG  DITCH-RIDER. 


- i$ 


A  half-dozen  bounds  brought  him  to  the  spot. — See  page  22. 

Baily  was  not  visible;  and  he  drew  neat 
the  house,  riding  around  by  way  of  the 
corral  and  the  grain  stacks,  which  took 
him  along  the  border  of  the  millet  field. 

Elsie  was  playing  in  the  edge  of  the 
millet,  romping  with  the  shepherd  puppy, 
and  she  ran  toward  Harry  as  he  rode  up, 
the  puppy  racing  at  her  heels. 

Her  sunbonnet,  blown  back  from  her 
head,  was  held  by  its  strings.     Her  bright 


22 


THE    YOUNG  D1TCH-B1DEB. 


hair,  which  had  heen  in  curls  —  for  Mrs. 
Baily  looked  carefully  after  Elsie's  per- 
sonal appearance  —  flew  in  a  silky  tangle 
about  her  face.  The  glow  of  health  was 
in  her  cheeks,  a  smile  in  her  blue  eyes, 
and  gleeful,  childish  laughter  on  her 
lips. 

The  young  ditch-rider  drew  rein  almost 
involuntarily  and  admiringly  watched 
her.  He  had  never  seen  a  lovelier  pic- 
ture. She  was  not  afraid  of  him  —  in 
truth  she  feared  no  one  —  and  came 
straight  on  along  the  millet  until  within 
less  than  a  dozen  yards. 

Then  she  tried  to  spring  backward,  and 
fell  prone  to  the  earth  with  a  cry  of 
fright.  The  puppy  gave  one  sniff,  and 
then  ran  by  her  and  barked  at  something 
wriggling  in  the  grass. 

Harry  Purcell  sprung  from  his  saddle. 
He  knew  what  had  happened.  A  prairie 
rattler,  hidden  in  the  millet,  had  struck 
its  fangs  into  the  child's  flesh. 

A  half  dozen  bounds  brought  him  to 
the  spot.  He  saw  the  rattler  glide  into  a 
hole  in  the  earth,  pursued  and  snapped  at 
by  the  shepherd  puppy;  then  he  caught 
up  the  little  girl. 

"  Did  it  bite  you?    Where  is  it?" 

Elsie's  face  was  as  white  as  a  sheet  and 
her  blue  eyes  wide  open  with  terror.  She 
gasped,  as  she  tried  to  answer,  and  pointed 
to  her  bare  ankle.  Two  small  punctures 
showed  where  the  fangs  had  taken  hold 
and  poured  out  their  poison. 

Fortunately  Harry  had  had  some  ex- 


perience in  dealing  with  snake  bites.  He 
knew  that  prompt  action  was  necessary, 
and  without  another  word  he  pressed  his 
lips  to  the  wound  and  sucked  out  all  the 
poison  he  could.  Then  he  picked  her  up 
in  his  arms  and  ran  with  all  speed  to  the 
house. 

"  Elsie  is  snake  bit!"  he  said,  striving  to 
show  no  signs  of  flurry.  He  spoke  to 
Mrs.  Baily,  who  got  up  surprisedly  from 
her  work  of  sewing  on  some  carpet  rags 
as  he  entered. 

Elsie  made  no  sound.  She  was  so 
utterly  silent  that  she  seemed  to  have 
been  deprived  of  the  power  of  speech  or 
thought.  But  that  she  was  entirely  con- 
scious was  shown  by  the  intelligent, 
though  frightened,  look  in  her  eyes,  and 
by  the  quickness  with  which  she  obeyed 
his  every  injunction. 

Mrs.  Baily,  on  the  other  hand,  was  per- 
fectly helpless.  The  terrible  announce- 
ment seemed  to  take  from  her  what  little 
energy  and  self-possession  she  had.  She 
became  a  mere  bundle  of  quivering  nerves, 
running  hither  and  thither,  trying  vainly 
to  find  the  things  he  desired,  and  sobbing 
out  wildly  in  her  alarm. 

Baily  was  not  at  home,  having  gone  to 
a  neighbor's  to  borrow  a  hay  rake. 

Harry  glanced  about  the  room.  There 
was  nothing  with  which  he  could  cauter- 
ize the  wound,  and  he  hesitated  to  try  to 
cut  it  out  with  his  dull  pocket-knife.  So 
he  twisted  his  handkerchief  into  a  cord 
and  applied  it  to  the  limb  as  a  tourniquet. 


Elsie  compressed  her  lips,  but  no  cry  of 
pain  came  from  them. 

Sirs.  Baily  was  wandering  abstractedly 
about  the  room. 

"  I  can't  wait  longer!"  Harry  an- 
nounced. "A  doctor's  got  to  be  had, 
and  the  quickest  way  is  to  go  to  him. 
Don't  worry.  She'll  come  out  all  right. 
These  things  are  not  so  dangerous  when 
they're  taken  in  time!  Good-by.  Have 
Mr.  Baily  come  right  on  to  town  as  soon 
as  he  gets  back!" 

With  this  he  again  picked  vip  the  little 
girl,  who  had  been  lying,  or  rather  half- 
reclining,  on  the  floor,  with  her  head 
pressed  against  the  wall. 

The  obedient  pony  was  standing  with 
rein  down,  just  where  he  had  left  it. 
Harry  reached  its  side,  after  a  quick  run, 
and  climbed  with  Elsie  into  the  deep 
saddle.  Then  he  set  her  in  front  of 
him,  clasped  her  firmly  in  his  strong 
arms,  straightened  the  sunbonnet  on 
her  head,  and  touched  the  pony  with 
his  heels. 

The  trail  to  Golden  City  lay  before  him, 
straight  as  an  arrow  and  almost  as  level  as 
a  ride. 

"  It's  ten  miles  to  town,  Ponca!"  he 
said,  as  he  lifted  himself  for  the  work. 
"  But  we'll  make  it  in  time,  or  die.  Now, 
b-o!" 


TEE    YOUNG  BITCH-BIDE B.  23 

CHAPTER    IV. 


A  KIDE  FOE  LIFE. 

\  HE  pony  lifted  its  ears 
at  that  stern  word  of 
command;  and,  from 
the  jog  trot  to 
which  the  cudgeling 
heels  had  urged  it, 
swung  into  a  canter. 
Mrs.  Baily  ran  out  of  the  house  screaming 
and  wringing  her  hands;  and  the  shep- 
herd puppy  chased  into  the  dust  cloud, 
barking  and  snapping  at  the  pony's 
heels. 

Harry  Purcell  held  Elsie  in  as  easy  an 
attitude  as  he  could,  letting  most  of  her 
weight  rest  on  the  saddle  between  his 
body  and  the  high  pommel,  and  drove  the 
pony  on  across  the  wet  ground  by  the 
stock  reservoir,  and  into  the  arrowy  trail. 
"Go,  Ponca!  Go!"  he  urged;  and 
Ponca,  stretching  out  a  scraggy,  ewe-like 
neck,  went  down  the  trail  like  a  trained 
hunter. 

Fortunately  the  buckskin  pony  was 
fresh  from  a  night's  rest.  It  was  used  to 
hard  riding,  too.  Day  after  day  it  had 
been  accustomed  to  gallop  from  twenty  to 
fifty  miles,  up  and  down  the  ditches  and 
across  the  mossy  stretches  of  buffalo 
grass.  And  it  had  the  large  lung-capacity 
and  the  untiring  endurance  of  the  true 
"Western  broncho. 

When  the  pony  was  running  easily, 
Harry   dropped  the  reins   on   its   neck, 


24 


THE    YOUNG  DITCH-BIDER. 


guided  it  with  his  knees  when  it  needed 
guiding,  and  lifted  Elsie  to  a  still  easier 
position  in  front  of  him,  holding  her 
closely  and  lovingly  in  his  arms.  As  he 
did  so  he  looked  into  her  face. 

He  saw  that  she  was  sobbing  frighten- 
edly,  and  took  it  as  a  good  indication. 
Tears  drenched  her  cheeks  and  a  little 
semicircle  of  dust  showed  beneath  each 
eye.  The  dust  was  blowing  in  clouds 
from  the  upper  part  of  the  sorghum  field, 
where  the  pulverized  soil  had  received  no 
water  and  the  sorghum  had  died  to  the 
ground. 

The  dirty  semicircles  walling  in  the 
tears  were  so  suggestive  of  dams  holding 
back  the  irrigating  floods  from  overflow- 
ing the  fair  fields  of  her  face  that  the 
young  ditch-rider  smiled  in  spite  of  his 
great  anxiety  and  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

It  was  the  best  thing  he  could  have 
done.  She  was  quiveringly  alive  to  every- 
thing and  the  smile  impressed  her  with 
the  belief  that  her  condition  was  hopeful. 
She  tried  to  smile  back. 

"  Oh,  you're  all  right!"  he  cried,  en- 
couragingly. "We'll  be  at  Dr.  Sarine's 
almost  before  you  know  it!  I  think  I 
got  out  nearly  all  the  poison.  Here's 
Hudspeth's  claim  already!" 

Elsie's  ankle  and  leg  pained  her,  but 
she  did  not  complain.  The  compressing 
tourniquet  seemed  fairly  to  cut  into  the 
flesh;  but,  knowing  it  had  been  applied 
for    a    good    reason,    she    kept    her    lips 


tightly  closed.  The  lips  were  very  white, 
as  Harry  noticed;  and  they  quivered 
tremulously.  Spots  in  the  cheeks  burned 
like  fever. 

They  were  going  at  a  good  gait.  The 
pony  seemed  to  understand  that  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  was  expected  of 
it.  Not  often  did  the  ditch-rider  drive  it 
along  thus  with  the  reins  swinging 
loosely. 

A  mile  wras  quickly  passed  over. 
Harry  lifted  Elsie  closer  to  his  breast 
with  his  strong  right  hand,  and,  bending 
slightly  forward,  patted  the  willing  pony 
on  the  shoulder  with  his  left. 

"  Good  boy!"  he  encouragingly  coaxed. 
"  Good  boy!" 

"  We're  beyond  Hudspeth's  windmill!" 
he  hopefully  announced.  "  We'll  soon 
be  at  the  ditch  that  crosses  Cameron's 
wheat  field.  You're  feeling  all  right, 
ain't  you?" 

He  listened  anxiously  for  the  reply. 

"  Yes,  sir!" 

"  And  does  your  leg  hurt  you  much?" 

"  Yes,  sir!" 

"  It's  the  handkerchief  I  tied  'round  it, 
I  guess.  Here  we  are,  at  Cameron's 
ditch!" 

The  little  ditch  was  spanned  by  a 
wooden  bridge.  He  caught  the  rein  and 
gently  lifted  on  it.  The  pony  crossed  the 
bridge  at  a  bound,  and  galloped  on  down 
the  trail,  stretching  out  its  ewe-neck  and 
distending  its  nostrils.  There  were  as 
yet  no  symptoms  of  tiring;  though,  when 


THE    YOUNG  DITCH-B1BEB. 


25 


Harry  dropped  the  rein  and  slipped  his 
hand  beneath  the  edge  of  the  saddle  cloth 
he  brought  it  away  covered  with  foam. 

He  wiped  off  the  foam  on  the  pony's 
hairy  coat,  then  again  changed  Elsie's 


he  knew.  The  poison  of  the  bite  had  not 
been  wholly  extracted  and  it  was  begin- 
ning to  show  its  deadly  work. 

Again  he  bent  forward  and  patted  the 
pony's  neck. 


The  pony  kept  up  the  killing  pace. — See  page  26. 


position,  both  for  her  ease  and  for  his 
own.  As  he  did  so  he  started  and  a 
blanching  look  showed  under  the  deep 
tan  of  his  face.  The  ankle  and  limb  were 
for  a  moment  revealed,  and  he  saw  they 
were  swelling  alarmingly.  A  part  of  this 
was  due  to  the  tourniquet,  but  not  all,  as 


"Good  boy!  Good  boy!  A  little 
faster!     Just  a  little  faster!" 

Two  miles  4iad  sped,  and  the  third  was 
reeling  out  beneath  the  pony's  pounding 
hoofs.  It  increased  its  pace  a  trifle,  in 
response  to  this  appeal,  pushed  its  nose 
out  a  little  farther,  and  threw  its  ears 


26 


TEE   YOUNG  BITCE-BIDEB. 


back  as  if  to  catch  his  lightest  com- 
mand. 

Thus  went  two  more  miles.  They 
were  cutting  into  the  wind  at  an  angle, 
and  it  whistled  by  his  ears,  high-keyed 
and  shrill.  The  distance  to  town  was 
half  covered,  now.  But  a  pang  of  fear 
and  dismay  was  tugging  at  the  heart  of 
Harry  Purcell.  The  child  was  becoming 
a  dead  weight  in  his  arms. 

The  swelling  in  the  ankle  and  limb  had 
increased;  and,  to  his  fancy,  even  her 
face  seemed  to  be  puffing.  She  began  to 
he  unconscious  and  delirious  at  times, 
though  his  voice  would  always  stir  her. 

"How  do  you  feel  now?"  he  asked,  as 
he  again  shifted  her  on  his  arm. 

He  fancied  he  could  see  a  dim  blue 
line  reaching  up  the  limb  from  the  punc- 
tures. 

"  Yes,  sir!" 

The  answer  was  but  a  mumble,  and  it 
was  clear  she  had  not  rightly  understood. 
A  lump  rose  in  his  throat  and  fairly 
choked  him.  The  fear  that  he  might 
reach  town  too  late  came  like  a  stabbing 
pain.  Though  the  pony  was  doing  its 
"best,  it  seemed  but  to  crawl,  so  great  was 
his  eagerness  and  anxiety. 

"Good  Ponca!  Good  Ponca!"  he 
cried,  his  words  an  anguished  appeal. 
"  We  must  make  it!  Faster!  Faster! 
Go!    Go!" 

The  pony  was  sweating  freely,  and  its 
hreathing  was  not  as  easy  as  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  run;  but,  under  this  urg- 


ing, it  pluckily  kept  up  the  killing  pace, 
and  even  increased  it  by  spurts.  Little 
streams  of  sweat  collected  on  its  legs  and 
ran  down  to  its  fetlocks,  and  around  the 
edge  of  the  saddle  cloth  and  under  the 
headstall  of  the  bridle  the  lathery  per- 
spiration ridged  itself  in  soapy  foam. 

Not  once  in  the  long,  treeless  stretch 
had  a  human  being  been  encountered. 
At  Nickerson's,  one  of  the  boys,  who  was 
plowing  in  a  field,  had  stopped  his  horses 
and  stared  at  the  rider  dashing  down  the 
trail  in  that  life-and-death  race.  He  had 
wondered  about  it;  perhaps  he  had  even 
recognized  the  buckskin  pony.  But 
rapid,  even  reckless  riding,  over  those 
breezy  expanses,  was  a  thing  too  common 
for  comment;  and  when  the  boy  had  gazed 
at  the  horseman  for  a  few  seconds  and  had 
questioned  himself  and  his  team  as  to 
what  the  horseman  carried  before  him  on 
the  saddle,  he  lifted  his  lines  and  drove 
on  around  the  field. 

Another  mile,  and  then  another,  was 
added  to  those  passed  over.  The  pony's 
breathing  could  now  be  heard  plainly 
above  the  clatter  of  its  hoofs.  But  the 
town  was  in  full  view,  and  Harry  even 
fancied  he  could  see  the  roof  of  Dr. 
Sarine's  office. 

But  his  alarm  had  grown  from  fright 
almost  into  a  panic.  A  deathly  look  was 
in  the  eyes  of  Elsie  Baily.  She  had  sunk 
into  a  semi-stupor.  Once,  when  ques- 
tioned, she  had  complained  of  a  pain  in 
her  side,  and  he  feared  that  this  was  an 


THE   YOUNG  DITCH-BIDEB. 


27 


indication  that  the  poison  was  mounting 
to  her  heart.  The  bound  limb  was  so 
enormously  swollen  that  he  was  half 
tempted  to  remove  the  tourniquet. 

Just  in  the  edge  of  town  he  encoun- 
tered a  cart  with  two  men  in  it.  They 
recognized  him  and  said  something;  and, 
when  he  did  not  reply,  they  turned  the 
cart  about  in  the  trail  and  returned  to 
town. 

Then  the  pony  swept  into  the  main 
street,  with  the  race  fairly  won. 

Harry  struck  it  sharply  with  his  heels 
as  it  bounded  across  the  bridge  at  the 
street  entrance,  for  it  seemed  to  think  it 
might  now  take  things  leisurely;  and 
again  the  ears  went  up,  the  nose  was 
pushed  out,  and  the  sharp,  unshop  hoofs 
pounded  on  almost  as  energetically  as  at 
first. 

"  Get  up!  Get  up!"  he  commanded. 
"Don't  stop,  now!" 

The  pony  fairly  flew  down  the  street, 
plucky  and  heroic  to  the  last. 

Near  the  center  of  town  stood  the  doc- 
tor's residence,  which  contained  his  office. 
It  was  surrounded  with  fruit  trees,  and 
cottonwoods  grew  along  the  sidewalk  for 
shade.  Through  these  the  sleepless  wind 
piped,  while  the  dingy  tin  sign  creaked  on 
its  hinges  or  was  banged  to  and  fro. 

As  Harry  approached  the  house,  a 
shower  of  dust  and  sand  flew  around  the 
corner,  and  out  of  this  shower  walked  Dr. 
Sarine.  He  was  a  stocky  man,  with  a 
pleasant  face  and  smiling  brown  eyes,  a 


gray  beard  and  rapidly  whitening  hair. 
But  in  spite  of  these  evidences  of  increas- 
ing years  his  step  was  almost  as  springy 
as  a  boy's. 

He  stopped,  as  he  saw  Harry  draw  the 
pony  in  with  a  jerk  and  leap  to  the 
ground  with  the  child  in  his  arms;  and 
then  he  turned  back  toward  the  office,  for 
he  knew  that  his  services  were  needed. 
He  was  at  the  gate  and  opened  it  as 
Harry  ran  up. 

"  Snake  bit!"  Harry  exclaimed,  breath- 
lessly.    "  Baily's  little  girl!" 

The  office  door  stood  open,  and  he 
pushed  on  in  without  delay.  Dr.  Sarine 
followed  more  leisurely,  but  with  a  grave 
look. 

"  I  was  there  when  it  was  done,  and  I 
sucked  out  the  poison  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  then  came  right  here  without  a  stop! 
I  rode  hard!" 

Dr.  Sarine  did  not  need  to  be  told  that 
Harry  had  ridden  hard.  The  pony  stood 
where  it  had  been  left,  with  drooping 
head,  hollow,  heaving  flanks,  and  quiver- 
ing limbs. 

Dr.  Sarine  knew  Elsie  Baily.  He  had 
brought  her  out  of  an  attack  of  fever  two 
years  before,  and  more  than  once  he  had 
been  consulted  by  Baily  for  rheumatism 
and  by  Mrs.  Baily  for  a  host  of  maladies. 

In  truth,  those  whom  Dr.  Sarine  did 
not  know  were  few  in  number.  His  prac- 
tice extended  over  the  whole  county,  and 
even  reached  to  the  lonely  homes  of  the 
cattle-raisers  far  beyond  the  influence  of 


28 


THE    YOUNG  DITCH-BIDER. 


the  fructifying  ditch  water.  In  the  days 
of  the  great  herds,  when  the  cattle  kings 
ruled  the  land,  he  had  many  times 
ridden  weary  miles  to  save  the  life  of 
some  unfortunate  cowboy  whom  one  of 
the  vicious  little  prairie  rattlesnakes  had 
struck. 

No  man  ever  had  a  kinder  heart,  and 
no  man  was  ever  more  unostentatious. 
His  skill  and  his  learning  were  free  to  all, 
whether  they  were  able  to  pay  or  not. 
He  is  not  painted  from  fancy,  and  it  is 
possible  he  may  read  these  lines,  for  he 
still  lives  to  bless  the  little  world  in 
which  his  lot  has  been  cast.  Should  such 
be  the  case,  he  will  understand,  it  is 
hoped,  something  of  the  appreciation  in 
which  he  is  held  by  his  neighbors,  his 
patients  and  his  acquaintances,  who  are 
also  all  his  friends. 

Dr.  Sarine  took  hold  of  the  case  ener- 
getically, without  any  fuss  or  formality. 
He  placed  Elsie  on  the  lounge,  felt  her 
pulse  and  gave  her  a  stimulant.  Then  he 
removed  the  tourniquet,  examined  the 
wound  and  applied  permanganate  of  pot- 
ash hypodermically. 

Harry's  heart  almost  stopped  beating  as 
the  doctor  worked.  He  knew  that  a 
crowd  was  gathering  outside,  and  he 
heard  some  of  the  questions  of  the  people 
who  were  looking  in  through  the  window. 
T)r.  Sarine  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  to 
bar  out  the  curious  but  well-meaning  and 
sympathetic  throng,  and  worked  on;  and 
soon  the  story  was  flying  over  the  town 


that  Baily's  little  girl  was  snake-bitten 
and  was  at  the  doctor's,  dying. 

Finally  Harry  caught  the  doctor's  eye. 

"  She'll  pull  through,"  was  Sarine's 
hopeful  statement,  "though  the  bite  is 
in  a  bad  place.  You  saved  her  life,  I  am 
sure,  when  you  sucked  out  the  poison; 
and  at  the  peril  of  your  own,  too!" 

Harry  had  not  taken  into  consideration 
the  fact  that  he  ran  a  risk  in  drawing  out. 
the  poison  from  the  wound  with  his  lips; 
but  the  danger,  if  he  had  thought  of 
it,  would  not  have  deterred  him  in  the 
least. 

The  sense  of  relief  brought  by  the  doe- 
tor's  words  was  overwhelming.  Elsie 
would  not  die!  Until  then  Harry  had 
hardly  known  how  great  was  his  fatigue. 
Excitement  and  the  determination  to 
save  the  child's  life  had  sustained  him. 
Now,  as  he  got  up  from  the  chair  into' 
which  he  had  dropped  soon  after  enter- 
ing the  office,  a  giddiness  and  blindness- 
came  over  him  so  that  he  would  have 
fallen  had  he  not  caught  at  the  wall  for 
support. 

"  You're  pretty  well  exhausted!"  said 
Dr.  Sarine,  giving  him  a  sharp  look. 
"  That  was  a  big  ride." 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right!"  and  Harry  tried  to 
laugh.  "  Just  save  her.  All  I  need  is 
rest!" 

"  Don't  worry  about  her.  She'll  soon 
be  out  of  danger!"  Sarine  assured.  "  I've 
saved  many  worse  cases." 

These  words  would  have  been  precious 


THE    YOUNG  BITCH-BIDEB. 


29 


to  the  Bailys,  at  that  time,  if  they  could 
have  heard  them. 

When  Harry  Purcell  rode  away  in  that 
cloud  of  dust,  carrying  Elsie,  Mrs.  Baily 
had  not  known  what  to  do.  She  watched 
him  dazedly  for  a  little  while.  Then  she 
ran  toward  the  stable;  but,  when  half  way 
there,  stopped  hesitatingly,  in  a  state  of 
distraction. 

Elsie  was  the  jewel  of  her  heart,  the 
one  creature  for  whom  she  would  will- 
ingly have  laid  down  her  life.  She 
clutched  at  her  throat,  as  she  looked  again 
at  the  pony  receding  so  swiftly  in  the  dust 
cloud,  and  a  half  audible  prayer  went  up 
from  her  lips;  then  a  pall  of  darkness 
seemed  gathering  before  her  eyes. 

In  a  few  seconds  she  conquered  the 
feeling  and  went  on  toward  the  stable. 
But  her  limbs  shook  under  her  and  all 
the  strength  had  gone  out  of  them.  She 
fairly  reeled  as  she  passed  through  the 
door,  and  then  she  fell  unconscious  on 
the  fragrant  alfalfa  that  choked  the  en- 
trance. 

When  she  recovered,  the  whole  terrible 
truth  swept  over  her  again,  and  she  ran 
out  into  the  corral,  which  opened  off  from 
the  stable,  and  stared  across  the  plains. 
TSTot  a  hundred  yards  away,  Baily  was  rid- 
ing in  on  the  hay  rake,  at  a  leisurely  jog. 

Mrs.  Baily  hurried  out  of  the  corral 
and  ran  screaming  toward  him.  He 
reined  in,  as  she  came  near,  and  sought  to 
understand  her. 

So  accustomed  was  he  to  doing  things 


without  consulting  her,  that,  when  he  at 
length  understood,  he  brought  the  whip 
down  with  a  cut  that  took  him  by  her 
and  on  to  the  house  at  a  gallop.  Mrs. 
Baily  ran  after  him,  shouting  something 
which  he  did  not  stop  to  heed  or  even 
listen  to. 

He  jumped  down  from  the  seat  of  the 
hay  rake,  ran  to  the  stable,  and  was  lead- 
ing out  another  pony  when  she  came 
breathlessly  up. 

"Bring  me  the  saddle!"  he  ordered. 
"  Then  take  the  pony  out  of  the  rake  and 
turn  him  into  the  stable.  You  can  git 
the  harness  off,  and — " 

"  I'm  going  with  you,  Richmond  Baily! 
Put  the  ponies  to  the  spring  wagon.  Do 
you  think  I  could  stay  here  while  maybe 
Elsie's  dying  there  in  town?" 

New  life  seemed  to  have  come  to  her. 
The  mother  -  instinct,  that  power  which 
rouses  and  transforms  the  most  timid  of 
God's  creatures,  lifted  her,  making  her 
strong  and  courageous. 

Baily,  so  long  unaccustomed  to  con- 
sider her  desires  and  feelings  that  the 
thing  had  become  a  mental  habit,  stared 
in  amazement.  But  he  began  to  obey 
without  a  word. 

Not  many  minutes  were  lost  in  hitching 
up.  The  harness  went  on  in  some 
fashion,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Baily  climbed 
over  the  front  wheels  into  the  stiff -backed 
seat  of  the  spring  wagon.  Then  the 
whip  was  laid  across  the  backs  of  the 
ponies  in  a  way  to  send  them  down  the 


30  THE   YOUNG 

trail  at  a  pace  almost  as  rapid  as  that 
taken  by  the  young  ditch-rider. 

"  How  long's  he  been  gone  ?"  Baily 
ventured  to  ask,  squinting  up  at  the 
sun. 

"  He's  half  way  there!"  she  answered. 

After  that  they  subsided  into  a  silence 
that  was  broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  the 
feet  of  the  ponies,  the  rattle  of  the  wagon, 
and  the  "  b-r-r,  b-r-r,"  of  drouth-loosened 
spokes. 

How  long  the  distance  to  town  seemed! 
Never  had  the  trail  appeared  so  endless. 
But  Baily  did  not  spare  the  ponies,  and 
they  were  almost  ready  to  fall  in  their 
tracks  when  the  main  street  was  gained 
and  the  wagon  rolled  down  it  bearing 
those  anxious  hearts. 

Mr.  Baily  climbed  stiffly  out,  for  he  had 
hardly  shifted  his  position  since  the  mo- 
ment of  leaving  home;  a  sympathetic 
store-keeper,  who  was  passing,  came  for- 
ward to  assist  Mrs.  Baily;  and  some 
loungers,  who  had  been  lingering  about 
the  house,  stepped  up  to  care  for  the 
ponies. 

"  Is— is— " 

Baily  could  not  finish  the  question. 
He  looked  dumbly  around  at  his  wife, 
who  was  advancing,  aided  by  the  store- 
keeper; and  then  he  stumbled  blindly 
through  the  gateway  and  up  to  the  door. 

The  office  door  was  opened  from  within 
and  Dr.  Sarine  stood  before  him.  Beyond 
Sarine,  on  a  lounge,  lay  a  small  form, 
half  hidden  from  sight. 


DITCH-RIDER. 

Baily's  face  became  ashy.  His  heart 
gave  a  great  bound  and  seemed  to  stop  its 
beating.  Dr.  Sarine  smiled  and  pushed 
by  him  to  help  Mrs.  Baily. 

"Your  little  girl  is  all  right!"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     DEBT     REPAID. 

AERY  PURCELL  did 
not  leave  Doctor 
Sarine's  office  un- 
til sure  Elsie  Baily 
was  well  out  of 
danger.-  She  was 
unconscious  and 
lying  on  the  lounge,  but  the  doctor  as- 
sured him  her  condition  at  that  time  was 
chiefly  due  to  the  treatment  administered. 
Harry  had  not  forgotten  his  pony,  and 
he  looked  about  for  it  as  he  came  out  and 
while  he  was  being  plied  with  questions. 
Ponca  was  standing  hitched  to  a  post 
some  distance  away,  with  head  down,  but 
apparently  much  rested.  The  saddle  and 
bridle  were  close  by  under  a  cottonwood. 
Going  over  to  the  pony,  Harry  laid  his 
face  softly  against  its  neck,  where  the 
sweat  was  drying  in  salty  scales,  and 
stroked  its  head  and  mane,  while  his  tears 
flowed.  Ponca  looked  about,  thrust  a  soft 
nose  against  the  stroking  hand,  and  whin- 
nied as  if  in  sympathy. 


THE   YOUNG  BITGH-BIDEB. 


31 


"We  saved  her,  Ponca!"  Harry  whis- 
pered.    "We  saved  her!" 

Feeling  that  the  plucky  pony  had 
earned  the  best  procurable,  Harry  took  it 
to  a  livery  stable,  gave  it  some  water,  a 
feed  of  grain  and  unlimited  hay,  and 
patiently  and  lovingly  rubbed  it  down. 

Returning  toward  Sarine's,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  more  than  half  an  hour,  he  saw 
Baily  emerge  from  the  office  and  step  into 
the  street.  He  had  been  thinking  of 
Baily  and  of  Mrs.  Baily.  He  felt  sorry 
for  them  and  likewise  glad,  for  Elsie  still 
lived  and  would  get  well;  but  he  was  not 
at  all  sure  he  wanted  to  meet  Mr.  Baily 
or  speak  to  him,  for  he  still  felt  that 
Baily  had  done  him  a  cruel  wrong.  He 
was  beginning  to  harbor,  too,  a  belittling 
sense  of  self -congratulation,  and  to  feel 
that  he  had  effectually  heaped  coals  of  fire 
on  the  head  of  his  enemy. 

Baily  saw  him,  however,  and  came 
toward  him;  and  Harry  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  avoid  a  meeting  with  this 
man,  who  so  evidently  wanted  to  speak  to 
him. 

Baily  fumbled  a  buttonhole  with  the 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  and  thrust  the 
left  deep  into  a  pocket  as  he  stepped  in 
front  of  the  young  ditch-rider,  who  some- 
what coldly  returned  his  greeting.  His 
manner  was  hesitating  and  he  was  evi- 
dently at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  There  ain't  no  use  pretendin'  that  I 
can  pay  you  fer  what  you've  done  fer  me," 
he  began,  "  fer  I  can't!     The  doctor  says 


you  saved  the  life  of  my  little  girl.  I 
thank  you  fer  that  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  and  I'm  sorry  that  I  ever  said  any- 
thing ag'in  you!" 

He  released  the  buttonhole  and  feebly 
extended  the  hand  for  a  reconciliation. 

Harry  was  minded  to  refuse  it,  but 
checked  the  impulse,  and  Baily  crushed 
the  boy's  fingers  in  an  emotional  grip. 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  served  you,  Mr. 
Baily.  But  you  will  see  that  we  can't 
very  well  be  friends,  so  long  as  you  tell 
people  I  opened  that  gate!"  Harry  ob- 
served. "  You  wronged  me  there,  and  I 
think  you  ought  to  right  it!" 

Baily  gave  him  an  earnest  look  and  the 
grip  relaxed. 

"  I'll  never  speak  of  it  ag'in,  I  promise 
you,  Harry!  I  can  keep  my  mouth  shut 
as  tight  as  anybody,  I  reckon!" 

Harry  stared.  It  was  plain  from  the 
tone  that  Baily  still  believed  him  guilty 
and  that  this  was  merely  a  promise  of 
silence.  The  young  ditch-rider's  sun- 
burned cheeks  reddened  and  he  drew  his 
hand  away. 

Baily  felt  the  awkwardness  of  the  sit- 
uation and  fumbled  again  with  the  ragged 
buttonhole. 

"  I  can't  pay  you  fer  what  you've  done. 
Sich  things  can't  be  paid  fer!  But  I'll  be 
your  friend,  if  you'll  let  me,  Harry,  and 
I'll  be  your  well-wisher  whether  you  want 
me  to  er  not!" 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  when 
Harry  did  not  reply;  then,  seeing  that 


32  THE   YOUNG 

Harry  was  about  to  turn  away,  he  brought 
the  other  hand  out  of  the  pocket  with  a 
jerk,  and  said  "  good-by." 

"  Good-by!"  returned  Harry,  also  walk- 
ing off. 

Baily  stopped,  when  a  half-dozen  yards 
separated  them. 

"  I  reckon  Elsie'll  be  glad  to  see  you 
over  to  our  house,  as  soon  as  she's  able  to 
git  'round  ag'in.  An'  Mis'  Baily,  too. 
Tell  your  maw  that  we'd  like  to  have  her 
come  over  some  day." 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  tell  her,"  Harry  re- 
plied; and  then  the  distance  widened 
again  between  them. 

Harry  did  not  go  on  to  the  office,  but 
he  encountered  Dr.  Sarine  on  the  street 
shortly  afterward.  On  being  reassured 
that  Elsie  was  practically  out  of  danger, 
he  remounted  the  pony,  tired  as  both 
were,  and  rode  slowly  back  over  the  long 
trail  home. 

He  found  much  to  think  about  during 
that  ride.  He  had  won  the  gratitude  and 
the  silence  of  Eichmond  Baily.  Baily's 
attitude  was  disappointing.  It  cut  him 
cruelly  to  feel  that  Baily  still  regarded 
him  as  no  better  than  a  common  thief. 

Though  Harry  saw  only  a  few  people 
that  afternoon,  he  found  that  the  story 
of  his  ride  to  town  was  already  spreading. 
To  such  as  questioned  him  he  told  the 
story  briefly;  to  the  others  he  said  noth- 
ing. 

Elsie  Baily  was  kept  at  the  doctor's 
residence    and   under   the   doctor's   care 


D1TC3-B1DEB. 

throughout  the  remainder  of  the  day  and 
that  night,  and  the  ensuing  day  she  rode 
home  with  her  father  and  mother  in  the 
spring  wagon.  A  few  days  later  Harry 
saw  her  again  romping  in  the  yard  with 
the  shepherd  puppy. 

He  did  not  go  near  the  house,  but  he 
was  told  that  Baily  had  not  rested  until 
the  rattlesnake's  burrow  was  opened  and 
the  snake  killed. 

In  the  meantime  the  dam  had  been 
patched  up  again  and  was  holding  fairly 
well.  Harry  rode  the  ditch  industriously, 
striving  to  satisfy  and  pacify  everybody, 
but  he  studiously  avoided  approaching 
Baily.  He  crossed  a  corner  of  Baily's 
millet  field  nearly  every  day,  but  it  was 
the  far  upper  corner.  Once  when  Baily 
was  out  in  the  field  on  his  pony,  Harry 
chased  away  over  the  slope,  as  if  in  pur- 
suit of  a  jack  rabbit,  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  avoid  a  meeting. 

Baily  was  certainly  keeping  a  still 
tongue  about  the  water-gate.  Not  a 
word  came  from  him,  except  in  praise  of 
what  Harry  had  done  in  saving  Elsie's 
life.  These  praises  were  frequently  re- 
peated to  Harry;  and  he  was  sure  if  Baily 
had  said  anything  else,  that  would  have 
been  repeated,  too;  for  the  ditch  district 
had  its  full  share  of  gossips. 

One  morning,  when  more  than  a  week 
had  elapsed,  while  crossing  the  upper  cor- 
ner of  the  millet,  Harry  saw  Baily  ride 
out  of  the  corral  and  spur  toward  him. 
A  meeting  was  so  plainly  sought  that  it 


THE    YOUNG  DITCH-BIDE B. 


33 


could  not  well  be  avoided.  So,  when 
Baily  was  half  way  up  the  millet  and  veer- 
ing to  intercept  him,  Harry  stopped  his 
pony  and  waited  his  approach. 

Baily  seemed  to  grow  confused  and 
hesitate  as  he  drew  rein,  but  he  finally 
blurted  out: 

"  I  thought  mebbe  I  ought  to  tell  you 
that  there's  goin'  to  be  another  ditch 
meeting  at  Dutton's  school-house  Friday 
night."  Having  said  this,  he  stopped 
and  combed  nervously  at  his  pony's  mane, 
then  went  on,  more  slowly:  "  But  there 
won't  be  nothin'  said  about  that  —  that 
matter,  so  fur's  I'm  concerned.  And  as 
fer  that  petition  that  I  was  circulatin' 
ag'in  you,  I  burnt  it  the  night  we  got 
back  from  Golden  City." 

"You're  very  kind!"  Harry  replied, 
unconsciously  stiffening  in  the  deep  sad- 
dle. "  I  suppose  I'm  not  wanted  at  the 
meeting  or  I'd  have  been  invited.  Well, 
I  shouldn't  have  gone  anyway!" 

"  No,  I  s'pose  not,"  Baily  slowly  as- 
sented. "  I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you 
about  it,  though;  and  I  just  wanted  to 
say  to  you  that  I  burnt  that  petition  and 
never  expect  to  put  my  hand  to  another." 

He  stopped  pulling  at  the  tangled 
mane  and  lifted  the  reins.  He  evidently 
desired  to  say  more  and  he  as  evidently 
did  not  know  how  to  say  it. 

"Well,  good-by!  We  want  to  be 
friends,  you  know.  Elsie  was  speakin' 
of  you  yisterday.  She's  real  chipper 
now." 


"  I'm  glad  to  know  she's  doing  well," 
Harry  replied,  with  softening  voice. 
"  Tell  her  so,  please.     Good-by." 

Then  Baily  turned  back  into  the  millet 
and  Harry -rode  on  up  the  ditch. 

"  Why  can't  he  be  a  man  and  come 
right  out  and  say  he  told  lies  on  me?" 
Harry  grumbled,  looking  back  at  Baily, 
who  had  dismounted  and  was  examining 
the  ripening  millet  heads.  "  That  would 
be  the  right  way  to  do,  it  seems  to  me. 
He  keeps  still,  and  lets  the  people  go  right 
on  thinking  I  opened  the  water-gate, 
when  he  must  know  that  I  didn't." 

The  next  day  Baily  drove  Mrs.  Baily 
and  Elsie  over  to  see  Harry's  mother; 
and  Harry,  coming  in,  was  surprised  to 
see  the  two  women  sewing  an4  discussing 
carpet  rags  in  timid  friendship,  while 
Elsie,  who  had  quite  recovered,  amused 
herself  on  the  floor  with  some  home-made 
paper  dolls. 

Harry  played  with  Elsie  and  talked 
with  Mrs.  Baily.  The  snake  bite  was  dis- 
cussed, with  the  incidents  surrounding  it; 
but  nothing  was  said  of  the  opened  water- 
gate  or  of  the  stories  Baily  had  circulated 
concerning  it.  Nor  was  this  subject 
broached  by  either  of  the  women  in  their 
talks  together. 

After  the  ditch  meeting  Harry  called 
on  Bigelow,  and  learned  that  Baily  did 
not  attend  the  meeting  and  that  little  of 
interest  was  done.  Baily's  absence  had 
evoked  some  questioning,  and  the  general 
opinion  that  he  had  stayed  away  because 


34 


THE    YOUNG  D1TCH-BIDEB. 


he  did  not  wish  to  say  anything  further 
about  the  petition  for  Harry's  removal. 
The  fact  that,  although  he  seemed  to 
have  dropped  his  antagonism  to  the  ditch- 
rider,  he  had  not  retracted  or  even  modi- 
fied his  statements  about  the  opening  of 
the  water-gate,  had  not  gone  unnoticed. 

"  I  reckon  his  pride  won't  let  him  go 
back  on  what  he  so  positively  asserted! 
Either  that,  or  he  still  thinks  you  guilty. 
Which  it  is  depends  on  whether  or  not 
he  has  been  honest  in  the  thing  from  the 
start." 

Bigelow  said  this  thoughtfully,  as 
Harry  got  ready  to  go. 

"  But  how  could  he  have  been  honest 
in  it?"  Harry  burst  out.  "He  certainly 
knows  he  didn't  see  me  open  the  gate!" 

Bigelow  did  not  reply  to  a  point  so 
well  taken,  and  Harry  rode  away  filled 
with  serious  thought. 

In  the  week  following,  as  he  rode  to 
and  fro,  he  was  made  to  feel  that  the 
opinions  of  his  enemies  had  softened 
toward  him.  But  the  fact  that  Baily 
still  made  no  retraction  rested  on  him 
like  a  cloud.  More  than  once  he  was  on 
the  point  of  riding  over  to  Baily's  to 
question  him  about  it,  but  each  time  his 
courage  failed. 

The  wheat  and  millet  were  harvested 
and  stacked,  when  the  water  in  the 
ditches  began  again  to  fail,  and  Harry 
rode  once  more  to  the  river  and  ex- 
amined the  dams  and  head-gates.  He 
saw  that  if  the  dam  could  be  pushed  far- 


ther across  and  the  breaks  made  secure 
by  a  sod  wall  backed  with  strong  timbers, 
enough  water  might  still  be  obtained. 
The  feed  sorghum  was  in  a  fair  state  to 
withstand  a  siege  of  drouth.  The  alfalfa 
had  yielded  two  cuttings  of  good  hay, 
and  the  third  cutting  was  pushing 
rapidly  and  hopefully  along. 

Harry  believed  more  money  ought  to 
be  spent  on  the  wing  dam,  and  he  rode 
back  home,  determined  to  wire  the  man- 
ager to  that  effect.  But  when  he  got 
there,  he  found  a  letter  from  the  man- 
ager, which  had  been  brought  out  by  the 
mail-carrier.     It  read: 

"  Repair  the  breaks  in  the  dam  and  do  what- 
ever else  you  see  is  needed.  Try  not  to  spend 
more  than  two  hundred  dollars.  If  we  can 
work  through  the  summer  economically  it  will 
help  us  with  the  owners  of  the  ditch  bonds." 

That  afternoon  Harry  made  arrange- 
ments with  some  of  the  farmers  to  com- 
mence hauling  out  the  needed  timbers 
from  Golden  City,  and  he  got  other  farm- 
ers to  put  their  teams  to  the  big  ditcher 
for  the  purpose  of  cleaning  the  main  ditch 
at  certain  points  and  of  widening  the 
laterals  where  observation  had  shown  this 
to  be  desirable. 

He  personally  supervised  the  repairing 
of  the  dam,  throwing  himself  into  the 
work  with  a  will.  He  knew  that  much 
was  being  expected  of  him  and  that  he 
was  assuming  responsibilities  undreamed 
of  when  he  took  the  humble  position  of 
ditch-rider. 


THE   YOUNG  BITGH-B1DEB. 


35 


The  weather  had  again  grown  ex- 
tremely hot,  though  no  dessicating  south 
wind  was  blowing.  The  wind  came  from 
the  southwest  and  the  west,  with  a  ten- 
dency to  veer  about  and  subside  into 
calms. 

Harry  paid  no  heed  to  it,  though  early 
in  the  forenoon  a  blue-black  line  on  the 
western  sky  drew  the  attention  of  the 
workers.  Some  of  them  thought  it  indi- 
cated a  storm  in  Colorado,  though  a  few 
were  of  the  opinion  that  a  mirage  was 
showing  the  distant  Eockies.  But  it 
was  soon  after  seen  to  be  a  storm, 
which    grew    until    it    covered    the 


He  became  panic-stricken.— See  page  17. 


36 


THE    YOUNG   D1TCH-BIDEB. 


western  sky,  and  then  swept  off  to  the 
southwest. 

The  farmers  went  home  at  noon  for 
their  meals  and  to  look  after  their  stock, 
and  when  they  were  gone  Harry  sat  down 
on  the  shore  end  of  the  wing  dam  to  eat 
the  dinner  he  had  brought  in  a  tin 
bucket.  Ponca,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
picket  rope,  nibbled  the  short  grass  far- 
ther up  the  slope. 

When  he  had  finished  his  dinner, 
Harry  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  dam 
and  inspected  some  timber  which  had 
been  carried  out  there  by  the  men  for  im- 
mediate use.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  a 
faint  roar.  It  sounded  but  little  louder 
than  the  soughing  of  the  wind,  but  it 
quickly  increased  in  volume  and  forced 
him  to  take  note  of  it. 

His  first  thought  was  that  a  storm  was 
coming,  but  when  he  leaped  to  the 
top  of  the  unfinished  dam  and  looked  off 
up  the  river  he  could  see  nothing.  The 
stream  made  a  bend  a  short  distance 
above  and  concealed  itself  behind  a  ridgy 
shoulder,  but  no  cloud  had  hoisted  itself 
in  the  sky  and  there  was  no  indication  of 
a  storm.  Even  the  wind,  which  had 
ranted  furiously  an  hour  before,  had 
ceased  to  blow. 

Harry  stood  quite  still  on  the  point  of 
the  wing  dam,  straining  his  eyes  and  ears. 
The  sound  grew  louder  and  louder. 

"  It's  a  flood!"  he  exclaimed,  thrilling 
a  little  at  the  thought,  though  not  with 
personal  fear.      "  There's  been  a  cloud- 


burst up  the  river.  Well,  we'll  have 
plenty  of  water!  I  wonder  if  the  dam  will 
hold!" 

He  looked  at  it.  A  heavy  timber  was 
half  in  place  on  its  outer  edge,  and  he  saw 
that  if  this  timber  could  be  slipped  two 
or  three  feet  the  dam  would  be  much 
strengthened. 

Under  the  impulse  of  the  moment  he 
leaped  down  on  thfc  wet  sand,  and,  exert- 
ing all  his  strength,  sought  to  slip  the  tim- 
ber into  position.  The  roar  was  increas- 
ing. The  timber  moved,  and  he  was 
about  to  heave  on  it  again,  when  the 
thunderous  noise  that  struck  his  ears 
caused  him  to  look  round. 

The  flood  had  turned  the  bend,  flash- 
ing out  from  behind  the  sandy  shoulder, 
and  was  coming  on  with  startling  speed. 
It  filled  the  channel  from  bank  to  bank 
and  slopped  over  into  the  grass  and  wil- 
lows. Its  top  was  a  frothing  mass  that 
resembled  dirty  torn  wool. 

Harry  understood  his  peril  at  a  glance. 
He  looked  at  the  shore  and  knew  he 
would  have  a  lively  race  if  he  succeeded 
in  reaching  it  before  the  flood  caught 
him.  But  he  was  not  frightened.  He 
did  not  have  time  to  be.  And  he  recol- 
lected, afterward,  that  he  made  a  men- 
tal estimate  of  how  far  out  into  the  val- 
ley the  flood  would  extend,  and  decided 
that  it  would  not  reach  the  picketed 
pony. 

Then  he  sprang  down;  but  the  leap 
was  a  hurried  and  awkward  one  and  dis- 


TEE    YOUNG    DITCE-BIDEB. 


37 


lodged  a  piece  of  timber  lying  loosely  on 
■top  of  the  dam.  He  slipped  and  fell  to 
the  wet  sand;  and,  before  he  could  get  up, 
the  timber  rolled  down  on  him,  catching 
his  right  leg  and  pinning  it  fast. 

The  limb  was  not  broken  and  but  very 
little  bruised  and  the  pain  was  not  great. 
He  tried  to  draw  it  out,  that  he  might  get 
up,  and  found  he  could  not.  The  sand 
yielded  beneath  the  weight  of  the  timber 
and  the  leg  was  pressed  down  into  it  and 
held  there  as  if  in  a  vise. 

As  soon  as  he  discovered  he  could  not 
draw  out  the  leg,  he  twisted  about  and 
got  hold  of  an  end  of  the  timber,  and 
sought  to  remove  it;  but  he  might  as  well 
have  tugged  at  a  house. 

At  this  he  became  panic-stricken.  The 
flood  was  fairly  on  him.  Its  advance 
sounded  like  the  dash  of  a  small  Niagara 
or  the  heavy  roar  of  surf.  He  beheld  its 
advance  as  the  trapped  rat  looks  at  the 
approach  of  an  enemy,  and  fairly  cried 
out  in  his  anguish,  for  there  seemed  no 
escape. 

His  cry  was  swallowed  up  by  the  lash 
of  the  waters  as  the  flood  struck  him,  and 
he  gave  himself  up  for  lost.  But,  instead' 
of  being  annihilated,  he  felt  himself 
caught  up  in  a  way  he  had  not  antici- 
pated, and  whirled  down  stream,  blinded 
and  choking  in  the  grasp  of  the  chilling 
waters.  The  timber  had  been  lifted  by 
the  flood  as  if  it  were  but  a  feather's 
weight.  He  thought  he  heard  an  out- 
cry.     Then  his  head  struck  something 


and  his  choking  sensations  were  succeeded 
by  unconsciousness. 

When  he  came  back  to  life  he  was  ly- 
ing on  the  grass  and  looking  up  into  the 
anxious  face  of  Eichmond  Baily. 

"  So  you're  coming  round  all  right, 
eh?"  Mr.  Baily  chirped.  "  I  was  mightily 
afraid  you  wouldn't,  the  way  you  was 
acting.  But  yoii're  worth  a  dozen  dead 
boys.  Biggest  flood  that  ever  went  down 
this  river,  I  reckon!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    MYSTERY    SOLVED. 

'URIOSITY  had  drawn 
Richmond  Baily  to 
the  river  that  day. 
He  wanted  to  observe 
the  work  of  the 
ditcher  and  the  pro- 
gress made  on  the 
dam.  Mounted  on 
his  riding  pony,  he 
had  gained  the  rim  of  the  tableland,  that 
here  formed  the  northern  wall  of  the  val- 
ley, a  short  time  before  he  heard  the  roar 
of  the  flood  and  beheld  its  resistless  de- 
scent. 

From  his  elevated  position  he  had 
looked  down  into  the  almost  dry  bed  of 
the  stream  in  advance  of  the  flood  and 
witnessed  the  frantic  struggles  of  the 
young  ditch-rider  to  escape  from  the  pin- 


38  THE   YOUNG 

ning  weight  of  the  timber.  Then  he  had 
struck  spurs  against  the  flanks  of  the 
pony  and  sent  it  leaping  down  the  in- 
cline. 

The  head  of  the  flood  had  passed  and 
the  waters  were  subsiding  when  he 
reached  the  river.  Seeing  nothing  of  the 
hapless  youth,  Baily  feared  he  had  been 
drowned  and  buried  in  the  sand  where  he 
had  fallen;  but,  as  he  galloped  along  the 
bank,  he  caught  sight  of  the  boyish  form 
in  a  clump  of  willows,  whither  the  flood 
had  thrown  it. 

He  was  out  of  the  saddle  with  a  haste 
that  was  phenomenal  for  him;  and  a  few 
minutes  later  he  had  Harry  Purcell  in  his 
arms  and  was  half  carrying  and  half  drag- 
ging him  to  the  high  and  dry  ground 
above,  where  he  began  vigorous  and  suc- 
cessful efforts  to  restore  him  to  conscious- 
ness. 

Baily  continued  to  talk  and  to  work. 

"  How  did  that  timber  happen  to  ketch 
ye?  The  dam  and  everything's  gone,  I 
guess!  But  you're  all  right,  though 
you've  got  an  ugly  lump  on  your  head." 

He  rubbed  the  chilled  shoulders  with  a 
hand  that  felt  so  like  a  nutmeg  grater 
that  Harry  winced  and  tried  to  sit  up; 
whereat  Mr.  Baily's  smile  became  more 
pronounced  and  his  comments  more  pleas- 
antly garrulous. 

"  You  needn't  worry  yourself  to  talk, 
yit,  if  you  don't  feel  like  it.  I  reckon  I 
seen  about  the  whole  thing.  And  I'm 
powerful  glad  I  happened  along  jist  then, 


B1TCB-BWEB. 

too,  for  you  wasn't  in  no  good  condition, 
I  can  tell  you,  layin'  there  in  the  willers, 
about  as  cold  as  a  chunk  of  ice!" 

Harry  pulled  himself  to  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, and  with  Baily's  help  tried  to 
struggle  to  his  feet.  But  he  was  not 
equal  to  it.  His  bruised  head  thumped 
painfully  and  his  ideas  were  in  a  muddled 
condition. 

Galloping  hoofs  on  the  slope  drew  his 
attention  and  he  saw  some  men  from  the 
ditcher  riding  that  way.  He  was  lying 
on  the  ground,  with  Baily's  coat  for  a 
pillow,  when  they  rode  up.  The  sun  was 
blazing  hot  there  on  the  hillside  and  he 
was  beginning  to  feel  warmer,  though  he 
was  still  as  wet  as  the  proverbial  drowned 
rat. 

Baily  hastily  acquainted  the  men  with 
what  had  happened;  and  when  they  had 
expressed  their  gratification  at  Harry's 
escape  and  asked  a  few  questions,  they 
galloped  on  to  the  river  to  survey  the 
work  of  the  flood. 

Two-thirds  of  the  wing  dam  had  been 
torn  out;  but  the  river  was  running  bank 
full,  and  the  water  was  going  in  a  torrent 
^through  the  head  -  gate  into  the  main 
canal.  With  the  river  at  that  stage  no 
dam  was  needed  to  divert  enough  water 
to  fill  the  Golconda  canal. 

Harry  was  on  his  feet  when  the  horse- 
men returned  with  their  report;  and, 
when  Ponca  was  brought  up  for  him  and 
he  was  helped  into  the  saddle,  he  found 
that,  in  spite  of  his  injured  head,  he  was 


THE   YOUNG  B1TCH-BIDEB. 


39 


strong  enough  to  ride  home;  which  he  did, 
accompanied  by  Mr.  Baily.  On  that 
home  ride  the  talk  was  chiefly  of  the 
flood.,  of  the  ditches  and  the  crops,  and 
of  the  rebuilding  of  the  dam  as  soon  as 
the  water  subsided. 

Baily  stopped  his  pony  at  the  point 
where  they  were  to  separate. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  I  was  able  to  help  you 
to-day.  It  kinder  pays  back  fer  what  you 
done  fer  Elsie,  you  see!  Tell  your  maw 
to  come  over  to  see  Mis'  Baily.  She's  ex- 
pectin'  her." 

It  was  plain  that  Baily  de- 
sired to  win  and  retain  Harry's 
good-will;  yet  he  carefully 
avoided  any  expression  of  a 
willingness  to  retract  his 
charges  against  Harry's  hon- 
esty, though  he  must  have 
known  that  that  would  be  the 
surest  way  to  the  boy's  heart. 
Why  was  he  so  persistently 
silent  on  that  point? 

That  was  what  Harry  asked 
himself,  as,  after  they  had  separated,  he 
was  riding  slowly  home.     Why  did  Baily 
avoid  that? 

The  ditches  continued  to  run  to  their 
full  capacity  for  a  number  of  days. 
There  had  been  heavy  storms  in  the 
mountains,  in  addition  to  the  cloud- 
burst on  the  plains,  and  these,  com- 
bined with  the  melting  snows,  gave  a 
good  flow.  The  fact  that  there  was  prac- 
tically no  dam  in  the  stream  amounted  to 


nothing  so  long  as  there  was  a  riverful  of 
water. 

The  effect  on  the  general  atmosphere 
of  the  irrigation  district  was  cheering  and 
wholesome.      The   farmers  were  able   to 


He  caught  sight  of  the  boyish  form.— See  page  38. 

wet    their    fields    thoroughly,    and    hope 
reigned  supreme. 

And  those  fields,  touched  by  the  life- 
giving  water,  certainly  presented  a  beau- 
tiful sight.  The  alfalfa  was  of  emerald 
greenness.     The   purplish   blue   blossoms 


40  THE   YOVNG 

seemed  to  mirror  back  a  bluer  sky  and 
loaded  the  Kansas  zephyrs  with  a  per- 
fume like  that  of  Araby  the  Blest. 

The  young  ditch-rider,  as  he  continued 
his  daily  rounds,  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
been  dropped  down  among  another  order 
of  beings.  The  scowls  were  absent,  the 
unkind  words  gone.  No  one  seemed  to 
remember  that  he  had  ever  been  charged 
with  an  improper  act. 

While  affairs  were  in  this  generally 
prosperous  condition  the  manager  made 
his  appearance,  coming  out  from  Topeka, 
where  he  had  his  office  and  his  home.  He 
knew  the  farmers  were  in  good  spirits, 
now,  for  Harry  had  told  him  so  by  letter; 
and  he  no  doubt  preferred  to  come 
among  them  at  such  a  time. 

He  was  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man,  of  a 
speculative  turn  and  energetic  dispo- 
sition. The  Golconda  canal  had  been 
constructed  and  its  business  was  being 
run  on  money  furnished  by  Eastern  peo- 
ple, who  knew  next  to  nothing  about  irri- 
gation, and  were  only  desirous  that  their 
investments  should  yield  the  largest  possi- 
ble revenue.  Between  their  demands  for 
low  expenditures  and  big  incomes,  and 
the  demands  of  the  farmers  for  just  the 
reverse,  he  had  found  his  pathway  not 
altogether  strewn  with  roses. 

Of  course  he  met  and  talked  with  Mr. 
Baily.  Harry  questioned  him  about  this 
meeting  in  much  perturbation  of  spirit. 
The  manager  looked  at  Harry  hesitat- 
ingly. 


B1TCH-BIBEB. 

"  When  I  asked  him  why  he  had  cir- 
culated the  report  that  you  opened  the 
water-gate,  he  said  it  was  because  it  was 
true;  but,  when  I  questioned  him  further, 
and  wanted  to  know  more  about  it,  he 
refused  to  answer,  insisting  that  he  had 
dropped  the  subject." 

Except  that  it  revived  Harry's  bitter 
feeling  against  Mr.  Baily  the  visit  of  the 
manager  was  productive  of  good.  He 
granted  concessions  to  those  whose  crops 
had  not  received  water  enough  and  made 
certain  agreements  whose  fulfillment 
promised  much.  In  addition,  he  gave 
Harry  authority  to  rebuild  the  dam  in  a 
substantial  manner. 

When  Harry  began  this  work  on  the 
dam,  the  season  was  well  advanced,  and 
the  crops,  except  in  a  few  instances,  had 
made  a  satisfactory  yield.  There  could 
be  no  denying  that  the  outcome  would 
have  been  much  better  if  the  ditches  and 
dam  had  been  kept  in  good  condition 
throughout  the  season,  for  the  soil  is 
phenomenally  rich;  but  the  failure  that 
had  seemed  inevitable  at  one  time  had 
been  mercifully  averted. 

Harry  might  have  been  quite  happy 
now,  but  for  two  things:  Baily  had  not 
withdrawn  his  damaging  statements,  and 
a  field  of  youDg  alfalfa  was  not  doing  well , 
because  of  a  lack  of  water.  Often  Harry 
had  stinted  his  mother's  fields  to  let 
other  patrons  have  water,  but  there  was 
very  little  now  for  any  one,  and  the  need 
of  the  alfalfa  bore  on  his  mind. 


THE    YOUNG   DITCH-RIDER. 


41 


One  night  he  awoke  with  a  terrible 
shock.  He  was  standing  in  the  edge  of 
the  lateral  that  ran  to  his  mother's  fields, 
spade  in  hand,  clothed  in  his  rough  irri- 
gating suit  —  rubber  boots  and  all  —  and 
the  water-gate  was  wide  open!  He  shiv- 
ered in  bewilderment,  as  he  stared  about 
and  down  at  his  attire. 

Then  the  truth  slowly  dawned  upon 
him.  He  knew  that  he  had  just  roused 
from  somnambulistic  sleep,  and  that  his 
intense  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  the 
young  alfalfa  had  caused  him  to  get  out 
of  his  bed  and  come  out  there  to  turn 
water  in  on  it.  And  that  was  what  he 
had  done  before.  It  was  indeed  he  who 
had  opened  the  water-gate! 

He  shrank  within  himself  and  looked 
dumbly  around.  What  if  he  should  be 
seen  there,  with  those  clothes  on  and  that 
spade  in  his  hand?  Then,  like  a  blow, 
the  thought  struck  him  that  he  had  been 
so  seen  by  Mr.  Baily,  which  was  the  rea- 
son Baily  had  refused  to  retract  his 
charges.  Baily  could  not  retract  the 
truth!  He  had  seen  the  young  ditch- 
rider  opening  the  water-gate  at  the  dead 
hour  of  midnight;  and  though,  in  his  de- 
sire to  repay  a  great  service,  he  might  for- 
ever close  his  lips  on  the  subject,  regard 
for  his  own  word  would  not  permit  him  to 
say  he  had  not  witnessed  the  act. 

Harry  Purcell  understood  it  all  now. 

He  was  thankful  that  the  night  was 
dark.  He  recalled  how  he  had  lain  out 
on  the  ditch  embankment  and  had  seen 


Mr.  Baily  slip  into  and  lie  down  in  the 
alfalfa.  From  that  point  in  the  alfalfa, 
on  some  other  night,  Baily  had  beheld 
the  work  he  had  denounced. 

A  feeling  that  Baily  was  again  in  the 
alfalfa  so  oppressed  Harry  that  he  could 
not  banish  it  until  he  had  waded  through 
the  grass  to  the  point  where  he  had  seen 
him  hide. 

Satisfied  that  no  eye  was  on  him,  Harry 
went  back  to  the  lateral,  closed  the  gate 
and  took  the  damming-board  out  of  the 
canal.  Then  he  walked  thoughtfully 
home,  divested  himself  of  his  irrigating 
suit  and  crawled  into  bed.  But  not  to 
sleep. 

In  the  morning  he  acquainted  his 
mother  with  his  discovery.  She  was  as 
much  surprised  as  he  had  been,  for  she 
had  not  known  of  his  somnambulistic 
habit.  They  could  only  infer  that  his 
overwork  and  his  desire  to  save  the  crops 
had  temporarily  made  him  a  sleep- 
walker. 

Both  were  so  distressed  that  they 
could  talk  of  nothing  else. 

"  I've  been  thinking,  Harry,  that 
maybe  you'd  better  go  over  to  Mr.  Baily's 
and  tell  him  just  how  it  was  and  how 
sorry  you  feel  about  it!  If  you'll  let  me, 
I'll  go  with  you  in  the  spring  wagon  and 
make  Mis'  Baily  the  visit  I've  been  prom- 
isin'  so  long." 

They  were  at  the  breakfast  table;  and 
as  she  timidly  made  the  suggestion,  Mrs. 
Purcell  put  a  spoon  in  her  empty  cup 


42 


and  stirred  it  under  the  impression  that 
she  was  sugaring  her  coffee. 

"  They'll  be  glad  to  know  just  how  it 
was.  And  I  feel  sure,  Harry,  that  God 
has  heard  our  prayers  and  that  you  will 
soon  come  out  from  under  this  terrible 
cloud  that  has  been  hanging  over  you  for 
so  long.  '  He  is  faithful  that  prom- 
ised.' " 

But  Harry  was  a  little  hesitant  about 
going,  and  doubtfully  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  just  this  danger,"  —  and  he 
seemed  to  measure  his  words  as  if  he  had 
long  considered  them  —  "  Mr.  Baily  may 
think  that  this  is  only  a  yarn  of  mine. 
I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  be  hard  to  make 
him  believe  that  when  I  opened  the  gate 
I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing!  It  has 
a  queer  sound,  you  see!" 

Mrs.  Purcell's  face  showed  her  dis- 
tress. 

"  Surely,  Harry,  he  won't  think  that! 
He's  done  everything  to  make  you  forget 
that  he  ever  said  anything  against  you." 

"  Everything  but  say  he  thought  me 
innocent.  He  may  still  be  in  that  same 
mood!" 

He  drummed  with  his  fork  for  a  few 
moments. 

"  I'd  like  to  do  what  you  say,  mother; 
but  I  haven't  the  courage,  and  that's  the 
fact.  If  I  was  sure  I  could  make  Baily 
believe  me,  it  would  be  different.  Give 
me  time  to  think  it  over!" 

He  got  up  from  the  table  and  went  out 
to  feed  the  stock. 


THE   YOUNG  B1TCH-B1BEB. 

The   discovery   of  the   night   pursued 


him  with  a  haunting  pertinacity  through- 
out the  day.  Work  was  still  being  done 
on  the  ditch;  and,  when  he  visited  the 
dam,  he  met  a  number  of  the  ditch 
patrons.  But  he  said  nothing  to  them  of 
the  sxibject  uppermost  in  his  mind, 
though  he  almost  fancied  they  could  read 
his  trouble  in  his  face. 

"  Going  to  Dutton's?"  one  of  them 
asked,  as  he  turned  homeward. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know.  What's  going 
on?" 

His  thoughts  were  of  a  ditch  meeting. 

"  Going  to  be  a  literary  there  to-night. 
It's  strange  you  didn't  hear  of  it,  for  it 
was  given  out  at  the  spelling  match." 

"  I  wasn't  at  the  spelling  match.  Per- 
haps I'll  go;  I  don't  know  yet.  Thank 
you  for  telling  me  about  it." 

His  heart  was  vexed  with  a  tumult  of 
contending  desires  and  emotions,  as  he 
rode  home;  but  out  of  the  chaos  came  a 
calming  resolution. 

That  night  Harry  Purcell  and  his 
mother  attended  the  "  literary  "  held  in 
Dutton's  school-house.  Nearly  every  one 
living  within  a  radius  of  a  half  dozen 
miles  was  present.     The  house  was  filled. 

Harry  sat  quietly  with  his  mother  and 
took  little  part  in  the  joking  and  conver- 
sation that  preceded  the  meeting.  Nor 
did  he  have  anything  to  do  with  the  ex- 
ercises, which  consisted  of  the  usual  reci- 
tations, declamations  and  debate. 

But  when  the  meeting  was  about  to 


TEE   YOUNG  DITCH-RIDER. 


43 


adjourn  he  stood  up  in  his  place  and 
asked  of  the  president  of  the  society  the 
privilege  of  saying  a  few  words. 

His  face  was  pallid  under  its  tan,  and 
his  voice  was  tremulous  in  spite  of  his 
efforts  at  self-control.  As  he  glanced 
over  the  faces  about  him  his  eyes  met 
those  of  Eichmond  Baily.  The  sight  had 
a  strengthening  effect.  His  form  grew 
straighter,  his  tones  steadier,  and  his 
hammering  heart  slowed  down. 

"  You  will  be  surprised,  I  know,  at 
what  I'm  about  to  tell,"  he  began, 
speaking  slowly,  as  if  feeling  his  way. 
"  Yesterday  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it 
myself.  Last  summer,  as  you  will  re- 
member, a  certain  gentleman,  who,  I  am 
happy  to  say,  is  now  my  friend,  charged 
that  1  opened  the  water-gate  in  my 
mother's  lateral." 

There  was  a  rustling  stir  in  the  throng 
and  a  buzzing  of  whispered  comment. 
Harry  glanced  about  and  observed  that 
every  eye  was  glued  on  him;  but  he  did 
not  falter. 

"  I  said,  at  the  time,  that  the  story  was 
not  true,  and  I  believed  what  I  said.  But 
I  am  ready  to  confess  that  I  did  open  the 
water-gate,  and  I  want  to  explain  to  you 
how  I  came  to  do  it." 

Then,  in  a  voice  that  constantly  grew 
steadier  and  fuller,  he  told  his  story  — 
told  it  in  a  way  to  carry  conviction  to 
every  person  there;  for  the  feeling  of  in- 
nocence and  honesty  that  sustained  him 
so  shone  out  through  his  eyes  and  spoke 


in  his  voice  and  manner  that  the  veriest 
doubter  could  not  remain  unconvinced. 

At  its  close,  he  found  his  mother  weep- 
ing softly  and  saw  Mr.  Baily  crowding 
toward  him  between  the  benches. 

"  I  want  you  to  forgive  me,  Harry!" 
Baily  exclaimed,  catching  the  young 
ditch-rider's  hand  and  fervently  squeez- 
ing it.  "  I  see  that  you've  told  the 
truth;  though  how  could  any  one  think 
you  opened  the  gate  in  that  way?  Not 
me,  I'm  sure." 

"You  saw  me?"  Harry  asked,  certain 
of  the  reply. 

The  buzzing  talk  almost  drowned 
Baily's  answer,  for  people  were  getting 
up  all  over  the  house  and  pushing  across 
to  take  the  hand  of  the  young  ditch-rider, 
whom  they  now  saw  they  had  wronged. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you.  I  hid  out  in  the 
alfalfa.  You  see  that  was  why  I  couldn't 
take  back  what  I'd  said.  But  it's  all 
right,  now!  And  there  won't  be  anybody 
gladder  than  Mis'  Baily  and  Elsie;  or  me, 
either!" 

He  wrung  the  hand  again,  and  then 
drew  back  to  make  way  for  another  farmer 
who  had  signed  the  petition  asking  for 
Harry's  removal. 

There  was  a  stream  of  men  and 
women,  after  that.  The  "literary" 
seemed  to  have  adjourned  of  its  own  ac- 
cord; and  so  many  women  gathered  about 
Mrs.  Purcell,  with  words  of  kindness  and 
sympathy,  that  she  broke  down  and  cried 
like  a  child. 


44  THE    YOUNG 

Whether  it  was  because  his  anxieties 
were  less  afterward,  or  whether  that  mid- 
night awakening  on  the  edge  of  the  canal 
broke  Harry  Purcell  of  the  somnambu- 
listic habit,  would  be  difficult  to  deter- 
mine; but  certain  it  is  that  from  that  time 
the  water-gate  remained  undisturbed. 

The  repaired  dam  did  its  work  well, 
and  the  next  season  saw  a  marked  im- 


BITCH-BIDEB. 

provement  in  the  management  of  the 
ditch,  so  that  the  farmers  had  not  so 
much  room  for  complaint. 

Harry  rode  the  ditch  that  year  and  for 
several  succeeding  years,  in  a  way  to  give 
perfect  satisfaction.  Time  has  gone  on, 
but  the  relations  existing  between  the 
Purcells  and  the  Bailys  have  been  of  the 
pleasantest  since  that  troubled  summer. 


THE    END. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  HOME  ON  THE  PLAINS. 

(( '"THERE,  that's  beginning  to  look 
-*-  something  like!"  exclaimed  Clifford 
King,  straightening  up,  with  hammer  in 
one  hand  and  nails  in  the  other,  and  sur- 
veying the  "shack"  he  was  building. 

"Like  what?"  questioned  his  sister, 
with  a  teasing  smile.     "  Not  a  house?" 

"  Yes,  a  house.  It  isn't  a  mansion,  but 
it  will  be  comfortable,  and  we'll  have  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  that  we  built  it  our- 
selves. You  held  boards  sometimes,  you 
know,  while  I  sawed  them  and  when  I 
pounded  nails." 

"Your  own  nails,  you  mean?" 

"  And  you've  done  all  the  cooking," 
continued  Clifford,  who  did  not  like  to  be 
reminded  of  the  pounded  fingers  any  more 
than  he  liked  the  looks  of  the  blackened 
finger  nails. 

"  I  guess  it  will  do,"  said  Miss  Katie, 


as  she  looked  the  shack  over  with  critical 
eyes.  "  This  door  seems  a  bit  wobbly 
and  the  north  gable  is  a  little  out  of 
plumb,  but  —  for  a  boy  who  isn't  a  car- 
penter, and  a  young  woman  who  isn't 
much  of  anything  —  it  will  do.  Now, 
back  in  Indiana!" 

"  Yes,  there  are  degrees  of  compari- 
son," Clifford  admitted.  "  If  you  should 
set  this  shanty  up  by  the  side  of  Judge 
Tilton's  house  back  in  Indiana  —  well,  I 
don't  suppose  he'd  be  willing  to  use  it  for 
a  woodshed!  But  out  here,  where  few  of 
the  houses  are  any  better  and  the  country 
is  brand  splinter  new,  it  isn't  such  a  bad 
house  after  all.  There's  one  thing  sure 
—  the  tarred  paper  won't  let  it  leak!" 

Just  beyond  the  half-completed  house 
of  two  small  rooms,  stood  a  big  wall  tent, 
from  which  Miss  Katie  had  emerged,  and 
whence  now  issued  an  appetizing  odor. 

"  My,  that  cooking  smells  good!"  Clif- 
ford declared.     "  I  shall  soon  have  to  ask 


46 


IN   THE   LAND   OF    THE   MIRAGE. 


you  to  do  your  cooking  only  when  the 
wind  sets  in  the  opposite  direction.  This 
work  is  giving  me  such  an  appetite  I'm 
hungry  all  the  time." 

Sister  and  brother  markedly  resembled 
each  other  in  looks  and  character.  Both 
had  honest  blue  eyes,  fair  complexions 
and  brown  hair;  both  were  approachable, 
sympathetic  and  filled  with  the  eager  en- 
thusiasm characteristic  of  Americans. 
Katie  had  passed  her  twenty-first  birth- 
day; Clifford  was  only  sixteen.  She 
called  him  a  boy;  and  he  was  in  many 
ways  as  boyish  as  a  boy  of  ten,  though  at 
other  times  he  was  as  manly  and  sturdy 
as  a  man. 

Clifford  glanced  toward  the  tent  and 
then  across  the  stretch  of  prairie  beyond 
it,  a  half  mile  or  so,  to  a  valley-like  de- 
pression, where  two  ponies  were  grazing 
at  the  ends  of  long  lariats  secured  by  iron 
picket  pins  driven  into  the  ground. 

"  I  wish  you'd  just  look  at  those  ponies, 
Katie,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing so  odd?  What  do  they  make  you 
think  of?" 

"Hobgoblins!"  said  Katie.  "Don't 
they  look  queer!  And  see  how  smoky  the 
air  is  out  there.  It  resembles  real  smoke, 
too!"  with  a  startled  inflection.  "  You 
don't  suppose  the  prairie  can  be  on  fire, 
do  you,  Chf?" 

Clifford  King's  face  showed  a  trace  of 
uneasiness.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  I'll 
rur  up  to  the  roof  and  take  a  look." 


It  was  the  work  of  only  a  minute  to 
mount  the  ladder  which  rested  against 
the  shack,  but  he  could  see  very  little 
more  from  the  roof  than  he  could  from 
the  ground.  The  atmosphere  had  a  blu- 
ish, hazy  appearance,  which  rendered  it 
impossible  to  make  out  objects  at  any 
considerable  distance.  A  shanty,  which 
had  been  plainly  discernible  in  the  morn- 
ing about  two  miles  to  the  westward, 
was  now  wholly  blotted  from  sight.  Close 
to  the  earth  there  appeared  to  be  a  smoky 
heat  shimmer,  though  the  day  was  not 
hot. 

"  I  can't  see  any  fire,"  he  announced, 
after  an  anxious  survey. 

Turning  toward  the  ponies,  he  observed 
that  they  seemed  much  taller.  Their  legs 
had  been  lengthened  as  if  by  the  addition 
of  stilts;  their  bodies  had  also  been  drawn 
upwards.  They  grew  taller  and  taller  as 
he  looked,  and  in  a  little  while  the  haze 
so  enveloped  them  that  he  might  have 
thought  them  bushes  instead  of  ponies  if 
he  had  not  known  better.  When  they 
moved,  the  effect  was  somewhat  like  that 
of  "  trees  walking." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  causes  that,"  said 
Katie,  who  was  also  watching  the  strange 
transformation. 

"Then  I  wish  you  would,"  Clifford 
called  from  the  roof. 

"  It's  the  miragy  condition  of  the  air. 
Mirages  are  common  here,  you  know." 

Clifford  King  seldom  had  cause  to 
doubt  the  accuracy  of  his  sister's  conclu- 


IN  THE  LAND  OF   THE  MIRAGE. 


47 


sions.     Still,  he  could  not  help  remark-    brother  had  set  up  a  tent  and  were  now 
ing:  erecting  a  house.     Clifford,  being  under 

"  Well,  I've  heard  of  mirages  and  seen    age,  could  not  "  take  up "  government 
them,  but  I  never 
knew  they  cut  up 
such    capers    as 
that." 

Though  Katie 
and  Clifford  King 
had  been  in  West- 
ern Kansas  for 
some  time,  they 
were  still  to  a  great 
extent  unfamiliar 
with  the  phenom- 
ena of  the  plains, 
of  which  probably 
nothing  is  more  in- 
teresting than  mir- 
ages. Six  months 
before,  Katie  and 
Clifford  had  been 
residents  of  Indi- 
ana, from  which 
State  they  had 
come,  to  join  the 
great  land  rush, 
that  reached  its 
height  in  1885-6. 

After  spending 
some  time  in  Gar- 
den City,  Katie  had 
filed  on  a  quarter- 
section  of  government  land  near  the  een-  land,  but  he  entered  into  his  sister's  plans 
ter  of  one  of  the  adjacent  unorganized  with  an  enthusiasm  that  augured  their 
counties,       On   this   land   she    and   her    success. 


A  horseman  was  swimming  into  view  through  the  haze. — See  page  48. 


48 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIRAGE. 


In  addition,  Clifford  had  secured  the 
position  of  "  locator  "  for  the  Garden  City 
land  firm  of  Rush  &  File,  and  had  already 
done  some  work  and  received  his  money. 
More  than  one  half  of  the  county  still 
consisted  of  government  land,  though  it 
was  now  being  settled  at  a  rapid  rate. 
Rush  &  File  were  appointing  "  locators  " 
in  every  section  of  the  Garden  City  laud 
district,  and,  being  impressed  with  Clif- 
ford's alertness  and  intelligence,  had 
offered  him  the  place  of  "  locator "  for 
the  untaken  land  in  his  vicinity.  Intend- 
ing settlers  were  to  be  sent  to  him,  and 
he  was  to  look  the  country  over  with 
them  and  assist  them  in  making  a  selec- 
tion, or  "location."  For  every  person 
successfully  "  located  "  he  was  to  receive 
five  dollars  out  of  the  money  charged 
the  settler  by  Rush  &  File  for  their 
services. 

"  There's  somebody  coming,"  Katie 
announced,  as  Clifford  descended  from 
the  roof.  "  Perhaps  he's  got  another  five 
dollars  for  you,  Clif!" 

Clifford  hurried  to  her  side,  and,  shad- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hand,  stared  off  in 
the  direction  she  pointed.  A  horseman 
was  swimming  into  view  through  the 
shimmering  haze.  Both  horse  and  rider 
were  drawn  to  spectacular  heights,  and 
seemed  to  bend  and  waver  like  paper 
figures  blown  on  by  a  wind.  It  was  im- 
possible to  make  out  the  rider's  appear- 
ance until  he  was  quite  near. 

"It's  Mr.  Glover,"  said  Clifford,  in  a 


tone  of  disappointment.  "  No  five  dol- 
lars there,  for  I've  already  located  him. 
He  is  the  man  I  located  last  Wednesday, 
on  that  fiat  quarter  of  section  twenty, 
east  of  here." 

There  was  a  look  of  anger  on  the 
bearded  face  of  David  Glover,  as  he  rode 
up  to  the  unfinished  house.  He  was  a 
man  of  middle  age,  short  and  sturdy,  with 
dark  eyes  and  hair.  He  nodded  stiffly  to 
Katie,  then  turned  to  Clif. 

"  Mighty  poor  way  you've  started  in 
here,  young  man,  do  you  know  it?  If 
you  expect  to  stay  in  this  country,  you 
can't  afford  to  begin  by  deceiving  and 
cheating  men  who  are  to  be  your  neigh- 
bors." 

Clifford's  face  reddened  in  amazement. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,  Mr.  Glover!"  he  declared. 

"  Oh,  you  don't!"  said  Glover,  with  a 
sneer.  "  Well,  you've  put  me  just  six 
miles  south  of  where  I  thought  you  was 
putting  me,  and  now  I've  made  my  filing 
at  the  land  office  and  am  stuck,  for  you 
know  that  after  the  filing  is  made  it's  too 
late  to  change.  I've  got  the  southeast 
quarter  of  section  twenty,  just  as  you 
said,  but  I  thought  you  was  putting  me 
in  the  twenty  in  the  township  north." 

"  I  told  you  township  eighteen,"  Clif- 
ford stoutly  insisted. 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  six  miles  fur- 
ther north,"  said  Glover,  angrily.  "  I 
know  you  said  eighteen,  but  you  took  me 
to  the  township  north.     What  makes  me 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIBAGE. 


sure,  is  that  there  is  a  creek  with  a  fringe 
of  scrubby  timber  along  it,  not  a  great 
distance  away.  I  asked  you  if  I  couldn't 
get  wood  from  that  creek,  and  you  said 
you  thought  I  could  as  long  as  the  land 
remained  untaken." 

"  Yes,  I  said  that,  and  1  say  so  yet," 
Clifford  answered. 

"  But  the  creek  is  seven  or  eight  miles 
from  the  land  I'm  located  on,"  Glover 
declared.  "  How  do  you  explain  that? 
If  I  had  got  the  land  which  you  showed 
me,  it  wouldn't  have  been  more  than  a 
mile  or  so  away." 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  the  creek  was  so  near 
as  that,  Mr.  Glover,"  Clifford  urged.  "  I 
said  nothing  about  the  distance.  I  don't 
know  just  how  far  the  creek  is,  for  the 
plats  I  have  don't  show  its  location,  and  I 
haven't  had  time  yet  to  visit  it;  but  I'm 
very  positive  I  never  said  a  word  to  make 
you  think  that  it  was  no  more  than  a  mile 
or  so  away." 

Katie  was  pale  and  much  distressed. 
She  felt  that  it  was  possible  Clifford  had 
blundered  in  locating  Mr.  Glover,  and  had 
really  shown  him  one  quarter-section  and 
located  him  on  another.  The  entire 
country  was  bewilderingly  alike  in  its 
general  characteristics.  There  were  no 
natural  landmarks,  and  as  yet  only  a 
shanty  here  and  there  at  wide  intervals. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  with  Mr. 
Glover  and  make  sure,  Clifford,"  she 
urged.  "  I  hope  you  can  show  him  that 
he  is  wrong.    He  may  have  gone  the  long- 


49 
It's  so  easy  to  get 


est  way  to  the  creek, 
turned  around  here." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind  —  begging  your 
pardon,  Miss!"  said  Glover.  "  I  don't 
get  lost  easy.  I've  just  come  from  the 
creek  and  know  about  how  far  it  is.  No, 
Miss;  your  brother  took  me  for  a  green- 
horn, that's  all.  He  saw  I  wanted  that 
other  piece  of  land,  which  I've  since 
found  out  was  already  taken,  and  he  was 
afraid  if  he  couldn't  make  me  think  I 
was  getting  it,  I'd  go  away  and  he'd  lose 
a  fee.  So  he  fooled  me,  just  for  the 
money!" 

Clifford  grew  even  paler  than  his  sis- 
ter. 

"  I  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing  as  that, 
Mr.  Glover,  not  for  twenty  fees!"  he  as- 
serted. "  You  are  simply  mistaken.  I'm 
willing  to  pay  back  the  money  I  got  for 
the  work,  and  I  think  the  firm  will  give 
you  back  the  whole  of  it,  if  you're  dissat- 
isfied." 

He  drew  his  purse  from  his  pocket  and 
took  five  dollars  from  it. 

"  Five  hundred  wouldn't  make  it 
square!"  Glover  fiercely  declared.  "I've 
lost  my  homestead  right  by  filing  on  a 
quarter  I  didn't  want,  and  now  I've  got 
to  keep  it.  You  thought  because  the  land 
is  so  much  alike  I  wouldn't  know  the  dif- 
ference; that's  all.  And  now  that  I  do 
know  it,  you'd  like  to  refund  and  sneak 
out  of  it!  Keep  your  money!  I  don't 
want  it!  You'll  lose  fifty  times  that 
amount  by  what  you've  done;  see  if  you 


50 


IN  TEE  LAND   OF   TEE  MIRAGE. 


don't!  I  shall  be  your  neighbor.  I've 
got  to  be,  now;  but  I  sha'n't  be  a  very 
pleasant  one  to  you." 

With  this  threat,  David  Glover  turned 
his  horse  and  rode  away,  leaving  Clifford 
and  Katie  hurt,  indignant  and  perturbed 
beyond  measure. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

LOCATING  A   QUARTER-SECTION. 

HOETLY  after  Mr.  Glo- 
ver's departure,  Clif- 
ford King,  acting  on 
his  sister's  advice, 
took  one  of  the  ponies 
and  rode  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  creek,  to  ascertain  its  distance 
from  Glover's  land. 

Though  this  was  a  matter  of  doubt, 
Clifford  was  certain  he  had  not  blundered 
in  locating  Mr.  Glover,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  in  that  vast  sea  of  grass  one 
section  of  land  so  resembled  another  that 
only  an  experienced  eye  could  tell  them 
apart  in  the  absence  of  distinguishing 
marks.  What  made  him  so  sure  was  that 
he  had  been  guided  by  mounds,  which  he 
had  set  up  after  running  carefully-meas- 
ured section  lines. 

That  he  might  keep  a  straight  course 
now,  he  took  out  his  hand-compass  from 
time  to  time,  set  it  in  position  on  his  palm 
or  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and  sighted 


northward  by  lines  of  weeds  and  thistle 
heads. 

Clifford  King's  earnest  face  was  so 
pleasant  and  honest,  so  open  and  frank, 
that  it  ought  of  itself  to  have  convinced 
David  Glover  that  the  youth  was  incapa- 
ble of  the  deception  charged  against  him. 

"  Of  course  he'll  do  all  he  can  now  to 
injure  me  in  the  work  of  locating,"  Clif- 
ford reflected,  "and  if  he's  very  bitter 
and  aggressive  he  can  hurt  me  a  good 
deal.     But  I  don't  see  what  I  can  do." 

As  he  rode  on,  the  haze  cleared  away, 
and  blue,  lake-like  illusions  began  to  ap- 
pear. They  were  but  another  form  of  the 
changing  mirage.  A  blue  line,  resem- 
bling a  narrow  thread  of  water,  became 
visible  on  his  left.  It  grew  wider  and 
wider  as  he  advanced,  and  extended  north- 
ward until  the  entire  horizon  in  front  of 
him  seemed  changed  to  a  sea.  from  which 
extended  bodies  of  water  like  bays  and 
rivers. 

This  shrank,  as  he  galloped  on,  and 
became  a  lake,  on  whose  farther  shores 
trees  appeared  to  stand.  The  trees  even 
showed  their  reflections  in  the  lake.  Yet 
the  lake  hardly  looked  real.  As  he 
studied  it  and  recalled  the  stories  he  had 
read  of  the  mirages  of  the  plains,  he  mar- 
velled that  even  travellers  half  insane  by 
thirst  could  ever  have  been  fooled  by 
such  things.  He  knew  that  the  seeming 
bodies  of  water,  which  constantly  changed 
in  shape  and  size,  were  nothing  more  than 
the    intensely    blue    sky    reflected    in    a 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIBAGE. 


51 


stratum  of  air  lying  just  above  the  dry 
soil,  the  air  acting  as  a  mirror.  As  for 
the  trees,  when  he  looked  at  them  closely 
he  saw  that  they  were  only  weeds  or 
thistles,  exaggerated  out  of  all  proportion 
by  the  miragy  state  of  the  atmosphere, 
just  a's  the  ponies  had  been. 

"  That  creek  is  farther  than  I  sup- 
posed," he  thought,  as  he  still  rode  on. 
"  The  twenty  that  Mr.  Glover  declares  I 
showed  him  must  be  near  here.  Perhaps 
that  is  it  over  there,  where  those  stakes 
are  set  up.  The  land  is  taken,  he  said, 
and  they  have  been  put  there  to  show 
ownership." 

When  he  came  to  the  creek,  it  was  not 
such  as  he  expected  to  see.  It  resembled 
a  chain  of  ponds  inclosed  by  high  banks. 
The  trees  were  nearly  all  cottonwoods  and 
grew  close  to  the  water.  Though  they 
were  scrubby,  their  tops  projected  some 
distance  above  the  level  of  the  country, 
and  could  be  seen  a  long  way  in  clear 
weather.  The  bright  green  of  the  leaves 
was  in  cheering  contrast  to  the  monot- 
onous gray-green  of  the  plains. 

On  reaching  home  after  this  jaunt, 
Clifford  found  there  a  farmer  from  Illi- 
nois, talking  to  Katie. 

"  Been  thinkin'  I  could  locate  myself," 
said  the  man,  after  he  had  introduced 
himself  to  Clifford  as  Abner  Brown, 
from  the  vicinity  of  Galesburg,  "but  I 
find  I  can't.  Been  lost  twice  to-day  al- 
ready. When  I  saw  your  place  I  rode 
over,  and  was  mighty  glad  when  your  sis- 


ter told  me  you're  a  locator.  Euther 
youngish  for  that,  though,  ain't  you? 
Should  think  you'd  get  lost  as  well  as 
other  people,  and  make  mistakes." 

Clifford  thought  of  Mr.  Glover's  state- 
ment concerning  the  southeast  quarter  of 
section  twenty,  but  he  only  said: 

"  You  see  I  use  a  compass,  and  I've 
put  up  guiding  mounds  to  assist  me.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  try  to  find  some  land  for 
you,  Mr.  Brown,  and  will  change  my  pony 
and  go  with  you  right  away,  if  you  say 
so." 

"  Dinner  is  ready,"  said  Katie.  "  Per- 
haps Mr.  Brown  would  like  something  to 
eat  before  he  starts." 

It  was  an  invitation  that  the  tired  and 
hungry  farmer  was  glad  to  accept. 

"  That  creek  is  all  of  seven  miles  from 
Mr.  Glover's,"  Clifford  said  to  his  sister, 
when  they  were  alone  a  few  moments. 
"It's  really  farther  than  I  thought." 

"  You're  still  sure  you  couldn't  have 
shown  him  the  wrong  section?"  Katie 
anxiously  questioned. 

"  Quite  sure,"  he  answered. 

"  I  suppose  he  will  complain  of  you  to 
the  firm?"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  But  perhaps  he'll 
see,  after  awhile,  that  he  is  mistaken." 

"  It's  hard  to  be  thought  dishonest 
when  one  is  innocent,"  said  Katie.  "  But 
that's  better  than  to  be  dishonest  when 
thought  innocent.  If  Mr.  Glover  is  an 
honest  man  himself,  as  he  seems  to  be, 
he  will  come  to  know  and  understand  by 


52 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE   MIKAGE. 


and  by  that  you  couldn't  do  such  a  thing. 
"We'll  just  do  the  best  we  can,  and  be  as 
kind  to  him  as  if  he  had  never  said 
a  harsh  word  against  you.  You'll  try, 
won't  you?  It  will  all  come  out  right  in 
the  end,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes,  I'll  try,"  Clif  promised,  with 
sober  earnestness.  "  I'll  treat  him  just 
as  well  as  he'll  let  me.  I'm  afraid, 
though,  he  is  going  to  make  me  a  lot  of 
trouble!" 

"  I  rather  like  the  looks  of  that 
country  off  there,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  when 
he  and  Clifford  were  seated  in  the  spring 
wagon  drawn  by  the  ponies,  with  Mr. 
Brown's  saddle  horse  tied  behind.  "  It'll 
drain  better,  because  it  ain't  quite  so 
flat." 

"  If  some  of  the  cattlemen  are  right, 
the  question  of  drainage  won't  cut  much 
of  a  figure,"  observed  Clifford.  "  They 
say  we'll  find  that  it  doesn't  rain  enough." 

"  It's  rained  a  good  'eal  since  I've  been 
in  the  country,  anyway,"  the  farmer  de- 
clared. "  I  reckon  the  cattlemen  haven't 
any  too  good  will  toward  us  grangers,  as 
they  call  us,  for  taking  up  the  land.  You 
don't  talk  like  any  agent  I've  struck  yit. 
Most  of  'em  brag  up  the  country  fer  all 
it's  worth,  and  a  little  more." 

Clifford  looked  sober,  for  he  thought  of 
David  Glover. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered.  "  I 
mean  to  be  honest  and  fair.  I  think  the 
country  is  all  right,  and  that  time  will 
prove  it  so." 


After  a  long  drive,  Mr.  Brown  found 
some  land  that  suited  his  fancy. 

"  What's  the  number  of  this,  and  how 
do  the  lines  run?"  he  asked.  "  I  reckon 
it  ain't  taken?" 

"  That's  something  I  can't  tell  you 
right  off,"  Clifford  answered.  "We'll 
have  to  go  to  the  mound  I  pointed  out  to 
you,  further  back.  Then  we'll  run  the 
lines  and  measure  to  this  land,  and  the 
plat  will  tell  us  the  rest." 

He  took  out  a  new  plat  of  the  town- 
ship, which  Bush  &  File  had  sent  to  him 
the  day  before.     This  is  how  it  looked: 

N 


W 


6 

5 

X 

4^~ 

3 

2 

X 

—  I 

7 

8 

9 

x40 

II 

12 

18 

1" 

X 

16 

15 

14 

13 

19 

20 

21 

22 

23 

24 

30 

29 

2 

ft 

27 

26 

25 

31 

X 

2 

33 

34 

35 

36 

The  taken  quarter-sections  are  here 
indicated  by  crosses,  but  in  Clifford's  plat 
they  were  inclosed  by  lines  of  red  ink. 

"  This  shows  a  block  of  land  six  miles 
square,"  Clifford  explained,  "  or  thirty- 
six  sections,  numbered  as  you  see,  each 
divided  into  four  quarter-sections  of  one 


IN  TEE  LAND   OF   TEE  MIBAGE. 


Clifford  took  out  a  new  plat  of  the  township.— See  page  52. 


hundred  and  sixty  acres.  That  mound  I  thirty-six  are  school  lands,  not  open  to 
pointed  out  is  at  the  southeast  corner  of  regular  settlement,  but  reserved  for  sale 
section  thirty-six.     Sections  sixteen  and    for  the  benefit  of  the  State  school  fund. 


54 


IN   THE   LAND   OF   THE   MIRAGE. 


We'll  go  to  that  mound.  From  there 
we'll  run  north  till  we're  opposite  this 
land  you  want,  and  then  west  till  we 
reach  it,  following  the  lines  and  measur- 
ing. When  we  get  back  here,  the  dis- 
tance traveled  will  tell  me  the  number  of 
this  section  and  the  quarter.  After  that 
I'll  put  up  a  mound  at  one  corner  and 
mark  it,  so  that  I  won't  have  to  run  the 
lines  again  when  I  want  to  find  other 
lands  near  here." 

"  So  that's  the  way  you  do  it!"  said 
the  farmer,  examining  the  plat  with  much 
interest.  "  But  how  do  you  git  the  town- 
ship and  range?  I  can't  see  anything  on 
this  plat,  nor  on  the  land,  to  show;  and 
the  sections  all  look  alike  to  me." 

"  I  couldn't  get  the  township  and 
range  without  a  starting  point.  I  know 
the  township  and  range  of  my  sister's 
land,  and  originally  I  started  from  there. 
You  know,  though,  how  they  are  found  in 
the  first  place?" 

"  Can't  say  that  I  do,"  Mr.  Brown  ad- 
mitted, looking  at  the  boy  with  growing 
admiration. 

"Well,  the  townships  are  numbered 
southward  from  a  base  line,  which,  in  this 
State,  is  the  dividing  line  between  Kansas 
and  Nebraska.  Township  eighteen,  is 
eighteen  townships  south  of  the  Nebraska 
line;  and  as  each  township  is  six  miles 
square,  that  makes  six  times  eighteen,  or 
one  hundred  and  eight  miles  south  of 
Nebraska.  The  ranges  are  counted  from 
a  line  running  north  and  south  through 


the  State  near  the  city  of  Wichita;  and 
any  range  east  or  west  is  counted  in  the 
same  way.  Thus,  range  forty,  west,  is 
two  hundred  and  forty  miles  west  of 
Wichita." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  farmer.  "  You're  al- 
most a  surveyor,  a'ready.  You'll  make  a 
good  one,  too.  Now  we'll  find  out  what 
the  number  of  this  bit  of  land  is,  and  if 
the  plat  shows  it  is  vacant,  I'll  feel  bet- 
ter." 

When  the  mound  was  reached,  Clif- 
ford placed  on  it  his  small  hand  compass 
set  on  a  shingle.  In  the  center  of  the 
shingle  he  had  cut  a  bed  for  the  compass, 
and  at  each  end  of  the  shingle  he  had 
fixed  pointers,  or  "sights,"  the  whole 
being  a  rude  and  cheap  imitation  of  a  sur- 
veyor's instrument,  minus  the  telescope. 

As  the  magnetic  pole  is  not  the  true 
pole,  Clifford  found  true  north  by  taking 
into  account  the  eleven  degrees  eastern 
deviation  of  the  needle  in  this  longitude. 
Then,  leaving  the  compass  resting  on  the 
mound,  he  tied  a  handkerchief  to  one  of 
the  front  wheels  of  the  wagon. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Brown,"  he  said,  "  if  you 
will  ride  ahead  on  your  horse  about  a  half 
mile  as  near  as  you  can  guess,  I'll  motion 
you  into  position  by  waving  my  hands, 
and  will  then  follow  you  with  the 
wagon." 

This  the  farmer  did,  stopping  when  he 
thought  he  had  gone  far  enough.  Clif- 
ford, sighting  across  the  compass,  mo- 
tioned him  to  the  right,  until  he  was 


IN  TEE  LAND   OF   THE  MIRAGE. 


55 


directly  north  of  the  mound.  After  that,  of!"  said  Glover,  riding  up  to  the  wagon. 
Clifford  mounted  the  wagon  seat  and  "  But  you'll  not  make  anything  by  it. 
drove  toward  Mr.  Brown,  counting  the  I'm  going  in  to  see  your  firm  about  it 
revolutions  of  the  wagon  wheel  to  which    to-morrow. 

the    handkerchief    was    tied.     He    had        "Better  let  this  youngster  alone!"  he 
found  by   trial   that  two   hundred   and    advised,  turning  to  Brown.     "  He  cheated 
twenty  revolutions  of  the  wheel  measured    me,  and  I  don't  doubt  he'll  cheat  you  if 
off  a  half  mile,  and  when  that  many  were    he  gets  the  chance!" 
counted  he  stopped  the  team. 

A  search  in  the  grass  disclosed  the  pits 
made  by  the  government  surveyors  a  num- 
ber of  years  before.  Two  of  these  were 
found  at  the  quarter-section  corners  and 
four  at  the  section  corners. 

"  This  isn't  accurate  enough  for  regu- 
lar surveying,  when  lines  are  to  be  estab- 
lished, but  it's  rapid,  and  answers  my 
purpose,"  said  Clifford,  with  a  pleased 
smile,  when  the  pits  had  been  found. 

From  these  pits  another  half  mile  was 
run.      The  land  desired  by  Mr.  Brown    of  that  kind,"  said  the  farmer,  closely 
was  reached  without  trouble,  for  Clifford    eying  the  youth. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

FIBE    FEOM    THE    ENEMY. 

Mr.  Glover  rode  away, 
Clifford,  with  flushed 
face,  explained  to  the 
farmer  the  meaning  of 
Glover's  statements. 
"  You  don't  look  like  you'd  do  a  thing 


had  set  up  on  it  a  stake  and  a  flag.  The 
plat  showed  that  quarter-section  to  be 
vacant,  too,  to  the  farmer's  delight.  Then 
the  proper  blank  was  filled  out,  giving 
the  number,  township  and  range,  that 
there  might  be  no  error  when  the  farmer 
went  to  Bush  &  File,  who  were  to  p.er- 


"  Indeed,  Mr.  Brown,  I  couldn't!"  was 
Clifford's  earnest  declaration.  "  I  should- 
n't be  able  to  sleep  of  nights  if  I  had 
done  such  a  thing.  But  Mr.  Glover  re- 
fuses to  believe  me." 

"  'Tain't  pleasant  to  have  enemies, 
that's  a  fact!"  the  farmer  philosophically 


form  the  legal  part  of  the  work  before  the  observed,  as  they  jogged  on.     "  I've  had 

United  States  land  office.  'em,  and  I  know.     There's  only  one  way 

As  Clifford  and  the  farmer  rode  back  to  do,  though.  Treat  'em  just  the  same 
in  the  spring  wagon,  they  crossed  section  as  if  they  was  friends,  so  fur  as  they'll  let 
twenty,  in  the  upper  township,  and  there  you,  and  keep  yourself  above  the  mean- 
met  Mr.  Glover.  ness  they  charge  to  you." 

"  This  is  the  land  you  swindled  me  out        That  the  old  farmer  did  not  instantly 


56 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  M1BAGE. 


lose  faith  in  him,  was  a  great  comfort  to 
Clifford  King. 

"  Perhaps  others  will  believe  me,  too," 
he  thought;  "  and  by  and  by  they'll  know 
the  truth." 

The  next  morning  Clifford  saw  Mr. 
Glover  ride  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
town,  and  it  made  him  uneasy.  But 
when  three  or  four  days  passed  and  no 
complaint  came  from  Rush  &  File,  he  be- 
gan to  feel  sure  that  Glover  had  not  been 
able  to  injure  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  firm. 

Clifford  located  two  other  men  that 
week;  and  on  the  following  Saturday  he 
drove  into  town  with  his  sister.  They 
needed  supplies.  They  also  wanted  to 
attend  church  on  Sunday,  and  Clifford 
desired  to  see  the  firm.  It  required  the 
greater  part  of  one  day  to  make  the  trip 
in. 

Clifford  found  opportunity  for  an  in- 
terview with  Mr.  Rush  that  evening. 

"  Yes,  Glover  came  to  us  and  told  his 
story,"  said  Mr.  Rush.  "  I  thought  it 
quite  likely  you  had  made  a  mistake. 
Such  things  have  happened.  I  assured 
him,  though,  that  if  you  had  I  knew  it 
was  unintentional,  and  that  we  stood 
ready  to  do  whatever  was  right  in  the 
matter.  But  we  couldn't  come  to  any 
agreement,  and  he  went  away  angry." 

Mr.  Rush  was  a  small,  alert  man,  with 
jet  black  hair  and  eyes.  He  nervously 
drummed  the  table  with  a  pencil  as  he 
talked. 

"We   should  have  written  you,   only 


we've  been  too  busy.  But  don't  let  it 
worry  you.  We're  having  all  the  work 
we  can  do,  and  Mr.  Glover  can't  hurt  us 
much.  The  settlers  are  fairly  tumbling 
over  each  other.  We're  expecting  to  send 
you  a  whole  wagon-load  next  Wednesday. 
A  party  is  coming  out  from  Ohio,  that  we 
shall  try  to  locate  up  there." 

Mr.  Rush's  black  eyes  lightened  in 
anticipation  of  the  harvest  he  expected 
from  the  stampeding  influx  of  people 
who  were  anxious  to  obtain  government 
land. 

"  There's  another  thing,"  said  Rush, 
"  and  I'm  glad  you're  here,  for  I  can  talk 
to  you  about  it  better  than  write  it. 
We're  going  to- start  a  town  in  the  very 
center  of  your  county,  just  five  miles  from 
you.  We  shall  call  it  Vego  Center;  and 
we  intend  to  boom  it  and  try  to  make  it 
the  county  seat.  Columbus  Holmes,  who 
is  running  in  opposition  to  us,  is  going  to 
start  a  town  north  of  you  on  Cottonwood 
Creek,  to  be  named  Columbus.  He  tried 
to  get  the  section  we  got,  but  we  were 
ahead  of  him.  So  he  took  the  other,  and 
is  going  to  make  a  point  of  the  fact  that 
his  location  is  a  little  more  picturesque, 
and,  as  he  says,  more  desirable  as  a  site 
for  a  town.  But  the  fact  that  we  shall 
be  right  in  the  center  of  the  county  gives 
us  such  an  advantage  that  there  isn't  a 
doubt  that  our  town  will  win." 

The  idea  of  a  real  estate  firm  starting 
a  town  in  this  way  was  something  new  to 
Clifford. 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIRAGE.  57 

"  We  begin  the  surveys  Monday,  and  town  there  would  be  to  make  Glover  more 
we  shall  have  an  agent  right  there  all  the  bitter  in  his  enmity, 
time.  You  will  work  under  him  and  re-  As  Clifford  walked  up  the  street,  he 
port  to  him.  We  want  you  to  put  in  your  saw  more  than  a  hundred  men  in  line 
best  work  for  Vego  Center.  We  shall  awaiting  their  turn  to  reach  the  delivery 
give  you  a  lot,  so  that  you  may  feel  that  window  of  the  post-office.  The  line  ex- 
you  have  an  interest 
in  it  aside  from  the 
fees." 

As  Clifford  went 
out  into  the  street, 
with  the  shadows  of 
night  gathering  and 
the  lamps  beginning 
to  shine  in  the  offices 
and  business  houses, 
the  intoxicating  spirit 
of  the  boom,  commu- 
nicated to  him  by  Mr. 
Rush,  gathered  force 
by  what  he  saw  and 
heard.  The  streets 
were  filled  with  men 
who  were  talking  of 
land  and  locations, 
quarter  -  sections  and 
town  lots,  and  of 
towns  and  county 
seats  that  existed  as 
yet  only  on  paper. 

Cottonwood  Creek,  where  Columbus 
Holmes  was  to  start  his  town,  was  the 
creek  Clifford  had  visited.  The  proposed 
site  lay  just  north  of  that  section  twenty 
where  Glover  claimed  he  should  have  been 
filed.     The  probable  effect  of  starting  a 


Put  in  your  best  work  for  Vego  Center,"  said  Mr.  Rush. 

tended  from  within  the  post-office  some 
distance  down  the  street,  and  he  was  in- 
formed that  many  of  the  men  had  been 
standing  thus  in  line  for  more  than  an 
hour.  It  was  the  same  way  at  the  land 
office,  he  was  told.     The  real  estate  firms 


58 


IN  THE  LAND   OF  THE  MIBAGE. 


had  men  who  took  the  location  filings  for 
the  day  and  stationed  themselves  before 
the  land  office  windows  as  early  as  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  that  they  might 
be  sure  to  get  the  filings  in  among  the 
first  when  the  office  opened  for  business 
at  nine  o'clock. 

Out  of  the  Saturday  night  rush  and 
clamor  into  the  peaceful  calm  of  a  church 
on  Sunday  morning,  was  like  a  transition 
to  another  world.  Probably  a  hundred 
people  were  gathered  in  the  little  church. 
The  windows  were  open  to  let  in  the 
talmy,  pleasant  air,  and  the  shade  of  a 
Cottonwood  spread  a  shifting  mottled  ear- 
pet  on  the  carpetless  aisle  near  the  seat 
to  which  Clifford  and  Katie  had  been 
shown  by  the  usher. 

How  quiet  and  peaceful  it  all  was!  Yet 
Clifford's  thoughts  lingered  with  pro- 
jected towns  and  vacant  quarter-sections, 
until  the  minister  read  the  text:  "  What 
shall  it  profit  it  a  man  if  he  gain  the 
whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul?" 

The  minister  was  a  man  past  middle 
age,  with  whitening  hair  and  beard.  He 
had  seen  much  of  the  world,  he  said,  and 
knew  well  from  experience  and  observa- 
tion how  unsatisfying  are  the  riches  of 
this  earth  alone.  In  great  tenderness 
and  love  he  urged  his  hearers,  the 
majority  of  whom  were  strangers  to  him 
and  to  each  other,  to  "  seek  first  the  king- 
dom of  God  and  his  righteousness." 

It  strengthened  and  steadied  the  heart 


of  the  youth,  who  was  in  danger  of  being 
swept  away  into  forgetfulness  by  the 
whirl  of  this  marvellous  land  rush;  and, 
when  he  returned  with  his  sister,  the 
next  day,  to  the  claim  and  to  the  work 
of  building  the  house  and  of  locating 
land-hungry  men,  he  had  a  sweet  inner 
calm  that  was  blessed  and  helpful.  He 
would  put  his  life  and  all  its  interests 
in  the  keeping  of  the  Loving  One.  He 
would  strive  to  do  what  was  right  and 
leave  all  to  him. 

By  the  close  of  the  week  the  sites  of 
the  new  towns  of  Vego  Center  and 
Columbus  had  been  laid  off,  and  strings 
of  lumber  wagons  were  hauling  out  ma- 
terial, and  buildings  were  being  erected. 
It  was  the  way  of  this  new  country. 
Everything  was  done  in  a  feverish  rush. 

The  starting  of  these  towns  sent  a 
swarm  of  settlers  in  that  direction,  and 
for  a  time  Clifford  had  almost  more  work 
than  he  could  do.  His  house-building 
was  entirely  suspended,  and  he  was  away 
from  home  so  much  that  Katie  got  a  girl 
from  one  of  the  settlers'  families  to  stay 
with  her  for  a  time. 

While  on  his  way  home  one  afternoon 
from  a  hurried  trip  to  Vego  Center,  Clif- 
ford was  surprised  to  see  Glover's  horses 
grazing  in  a  small  valley  a  long  distance 
from  Glover's  claim.  They  were  drag- 
ging their  picket  pins  at  the  ends  of  the 
rope  lariats,  showing  that  they  had  es- 
caped by  pulling  the  picket  pins  out  of 
the  ground. 


ZF  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIBAGE. 


59 


Eecent  rains  had  somewhat  softened 
the  hard  soil,  so  that  it  was  an  easy  mat- 
ter for  a  lariated  horse  to  drag  out  its 
picket  pin. 

Another  effect  of  the  rains  was  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  mirages.  No  mirages 
showed  when  the  grass  and  soil  were  wet. 
Only  when  earth  and  sky  became  arid  and 
desert-like  were  the  mirages  to  be  seen. 
The  dryer  the  weather  the  more  beautiful 
and  strange  were  their  manifestations. 

"Mr.  Glover's  horses  have  pulled  their 
picket  pins  and  got  away,  and  of  course 
he  don't  know  where  they  are,"  was  Clif- 
ford's conclusion,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the 
horses.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  drive 
"them  home  for  him.  I  should  like  to 
have  a  neighbor  do  that  for  me,  if  our 
ponies  should  get  away." 

Clifford  was  in  a  hurry,  though.  To 
drive  the  team  home  meant  trouble  and 
loss  of  time,  and  just  then  time  was 
money. 

"  And  he's  doing  all  he  can  to  injure 
me,"  was  Clifford's  indignant  thought. 
"  I've  lost  two  locations  through  him  this 
week.  That  means  ten  dollars.  My 
golden  harvesting  time  will  be  over  just 
as  soon  as  the  land  is  all  taken,  which  will 
be  before  long,  and  ten  dollars  means  a 
good  deal  to  us  now." 

"  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain 
the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul?" 
came  back  to  Clifford  from  the  minister's 
discourse. 

As  he  sat  on  his  pony  and  looked  down 


into  the  little  valley  where  the  horses  were 
grazing,  he  knew  that  if  he  did  not  drive 
them  home  or  tell  Mr.  Glover  where  they 
were  to  be  found,  Glover  might  search 
vainly  for  them  for  days. 

"  But  I  can't  afford  to  '  gain  the  world  ' 
dishonestly,"  he  muttered,  as  he  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  straying  horses. 
The  words  of  Abner  Brown,  the  Illinois 
farmer,  came  to  strengthen  him:  "  Treat 
'em  just  the  same  as  if  they  was  friends, 
so  fur  as  they'll  let  you." 

Clifford  rode  down  into  the  valley  and 
turned  the  horses  in  the  direction  of 
home.  They  were  not  easy  to  drive, 
however,  for  they  enjoyed  to  the  utmost 
this  newly-found  freedom,  and  several 
times  tried  to  break  away.  The  dragging 
picket  pins  impeded  them,  though,  and 
made  it  possible  for  Clifford  to  keep  them 
headed  in  the  general  direction  of 
Glover's. 

There  was  a  queer  look  on  Glover's 
face  when  he  came  out  of  his  tent  and 
saw  the  horses  being  driven  in  by  Clif- 
ford. 

"  I've  been  hunting  for  those  runaways 
for  two  days,"  he  said,  "  and  have  sent 
word  in  every  direction.  Where  did  you 
find  'em?" 

Clifford  explained. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Glover.     "  I  didn't  expect  it  of  you." 

Clifford  flushed.  "  Neighbors  should 
be  neighborly;  it  was  only  doing  as  I 
would  wish  another  to  do  by  me." 


60 


IN   THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIBAOE. 


"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Glover.  Then 
he  added,  a  little  embarrassedly,  "  Have 
you  heard  that  I  am  to  be  the  agent  here 
for  Columbus  Holmes?  That'll  put  us 
against  each  other."  , 

"  And  you're  thinking  that  perhaps  I 
returned  your  horses  to  gain  your  good- 
will, so  that  you  won't  fight  me  so  hard?" 
Clifford  questioned,  that  feeling  of  hurt 
indignation  again  rankling.  "  I  didn't; 
though  I  do  hope  we  may  be  able  to 
treat  each  other  fairly,  even  if  we  are  to 
represent  opposing  interests!" 

He  turned  his  pony  to  ride  away. 

"  I  didn't  say  you  did  that;  I  only — " 

But  Clifford  King  was  now  out  of  hear- 
ing of  further  explanations. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

LOCATING    RIVAL    TOWNS. 

DAYS  and  weeks  im- 
mediately following 
this  unsatisfactory 
meeting  between  Clif- 
ford King  and  David 
Glover,  showed  that 
Glover  was  a  man  of 
intense  activity.  Columbus 
Holmes  could  not  have  found  a  more 
industrious  agent  or  zealous  champion. 
Glover  worked  and  talked  early  and  late 
to  induce  settlers  to  take  the  vacant  lands 
about  Columbus  and  to  invest  in  its  lots. 


Clifford,  who  was  working  quite  as  hard 
for  Eush  &  File  and  for  Vego  Center, 
found  Glover  a  competitor  worthy  of  his 
best  efforts. 

Though  they  often  met,  they  took  little 
notice  of  each  other.  There  was  one 
gratifying  thing,  though.  Clifford  began 
to  hear  less  and  less  of  attacks  made  upon 
him  by  Glover.  By  and  by  it  became  evi- 
dent that  G'lover  had  almost  wholly 
ceased  to  speak  of  the  thing  on  which  he 
had  so  constantly  harped  at  the  outset. 

Clifford  fancied  this  might  be  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  story  had  ceased  to  be 
an  available  weapon.  The  lands  were 
soon  all  taken;  and  this  was  followed  by 
such  an  era  of  excitement  that  men  had 
little  time  and  less  patience  to  listen  to 
the  story  of  a  boy's  blunder  or  wrong- 
doing. 

Within  two  months  after  the  surveys 
were  made,  each  of  the  rival  towns  was 
able  to  boast  of  stores,  hotels  and  business 
houses;  together  with  a  goodly  number  of 
inhabitants,  whose  chief  business  seemed 
to  be  to  sell  lots  and  lands  to  each  other 
and  to  all  comers. 

It  was  impossible  for  Clifford  King 
and  his  sister  to  escape  entirely  the  con- 
tagion that  filled  the  air.  Clifford  had 
made  money  so  rapidly  that  they  felt  they 
could  safely  invest  three  hundred  dollars 
of  it  in  Vego  Center  property.  They 
heard  that  Glover  was  putting  every  cent 
he  could  earn  and  borrow  into  Columbus. 

"  We  can  afford  to  stake  down  a  little," 


said  Clifford.  "  I  shouldn't  want  to  risk 
all,  though,  as  Mr.  Glover  is  doing." 

After  this  step  had  been  taken,  and 
Katie  had  given 
herself  time  to 
think,  she  spoke  to 
Clifford  with  ques- 
tioning earnestness. 

"  Clif,  dear,"  she 
said,  "  it  does  seem 
as  though  there  was 
more  excitement 
and  rivalry  over 
this  work  than  is 
just  right,  doesn't 
it?" 

"Well,"  said 
Clifford,  "  perhaps 
some  are  claiming 
more  for  the  future 
of  this  part  of  the 
country  than  is 
just  warrantable. 
But  time  may 
prove  them  nearer 
right  than  we 
think." 

The  summer  had 
turned  very  hot. 
The  grateful  rains 
had  ceased  to  fall. 

The  grass  was  beginning  to  sere  and  the 
mirages  had  returned.  What  crops  had 
been  planted  were  withering.  The  farm- 
ers grew  sober. 

Clifford  did  not  return  to  the  work  of 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIRAGE.  61 

building  the  house.  He  could  not  afford 
to  do  that  sort  of  work  now.  So  he  hired 
a    carpenter;    and,    because    money    was 


We  shall  beat  you!"  Glover  declared.— See  page  62 


coming  in  rapidly,  the  house  was  prac- 
tically rebuilt  and  slightly  enlarged. 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  make 
money,"  said  Katie.  "  It  is  too  bad  that 
one  can  be  only  a  woman  and  a  house- 


62 


IN  THE   LAND    OF    THE   MIRAGE. 


keeper  in  such  a  time  as  this!     But  you    location  of  the  county  seat.     Naturally 
just  wait,  Clifford,  till  there's  a  demand    Clifford  and  Katie  wanted  Vego  Center  to- 


for  a  school  in  this  neighborhood,  which 
won't  be  long  now!  Then  jou'll  see  me 
blossom  out  into  a  full-fledged  school- 
ma'am!" 

"  And  instruct  Mr.  Glover's  children?" 
laughed  Clifford. 

"Yes,  and  all  the  others." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Glover  has  become  quite 
friendly  lately.  Did  I  tell  you  that  he 
actually  nodded  to  me  as  we  passed  yes- 
terday?    I  was  surprised." 

"And  glad,  I  hope?" 

"Y-e-s.  I'm  sure  I  want  to  be 
friendly." 

David  Glover  had  also  erected  a  little 


win.  Their  interests  were  there,  as  well 
as  most  of  their  new  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. But  neither  took  any  active  part 
in  bringing  success  to  Vego  Center.  They 
were  not  voters. 

Glover,  however,  threw  himself  into  the 
contest  with  intense  ardor  on  the  side  of 
Columbus.  For  nearly  a  month  before 
the  election  he  was  hardly  at  home  day 
or  night. 

"  We  shall  beat  you!"  he  declared, 
with  a  triumphant  smile,  as  he  met  Clif- 
ford in  the  road  one  day. 

The  old  "trails,"  which  took  the 
shortest  cuts  across  the  country,  were  giv- 
ing way  to  public  roads  laid  out  along 


house  on  his  claim  and  had  installed  his 

family  in  it.     Houses  had  multiplied  all  section  lines. 

about.     A  stage-coach  line  had  been  es-        "  I'm  not  in  this  fight,"  said  Clifford, 

tablished.       Windmills      wheeled      and  glad  to  meet  Glover  more  than  half  way 

whirred  in  the  brisk  breezes.     Civilization  in  a  spirit  of  reconciliation, 
seemed  to  have  come  to  stay.  "  But  you're  interested!"  said  Glover. 

As  yet  there  were  no  religious  services  "  You  hope  your  town  will  win?" 


nearer  than  Garden  City,  but  a  school- 
house  and  a  minister  for  Vego  Center 
were  talked  of. 

When  the  lands  had  all  been  taken  up, 
there  was  not  so  much  work  for  Clifford, 
and  he  gave  more  attention  to  matters  at 


"  Yes,  of  course,"  Clifford  answered. 
"  That's  natural.  And  I  think  it  will, 
too." 

"  Never!"  Glover  asserted. 

On  the  afternoon  of  election  day  Katie 
and    Clifford    drove    into    Vego    Center. 


home.     The  rivalry  between  Vego  Center    The    country    districts    were    almost    de- 


and  Columbus  had  taken  a  new  phase, 
into  which  he  could  not  go  with  spirit, 
and  in  which  he  could  have  done  little 
anyway  because  of  his  youth.  This  was 
the  struggle  now  entered  upon  for  the 


serted.  All  day  long  men  and  teams  had 
been  seen  going  toward  Columbus  and 
Vego  Center  and  toward  other  points 
where  there  were  polling  places.  The 
very  air  seemed  charged  with  a  feeling  of 


IN  TEE  LAND   OF   TEE  MIRAGE. 


63 


excitement,  which  made  staying  at  home 
dull  work  indeed. 

They  found  the  dusty  streets  of  Vego 
Center  crowded  with  men  who  talked 
earnestly. 

"  And  to  think  how  little  while  ago 
this  was  but  a  prairie!"  was  Clifford's 
comment. 

As  there  was  no  room  for  the  ponies 
in  the  over-crowded  livery  stables,  Clif- 
ford tied  them  to  the  spring  wagon  in  a 
vacant  lot  and  gave  them  a  feed  of  grain 
in  the  wagon-box,  after  which  he  and 
Katie  went  to  the  house  of  a  friend,  where 
they  knew  they  would  be  welcome.  There 
Katie  remained,  while  Clifford  sallied  out 
to  mingle  with  the  excited  crowds  in  the 
streets. 

Soon  after  nightfall  the  returns  began 
to  come  in,  and  then  word  went  round 
that  Vego  Center  had  won.  This  was 
followed  by  victorious  cheering. 

The  count  of  the  votes  cast  at  Vego 
Center  had  been  made,  and  no  one  now 
remained  at  the  polling  place  except  the 
board  still  in  charge  of  the  ballot  box  and 
returns.  Clifford  strolled  past  this  room 
and  beheld  the  members  of  the  poll  board 
grouped  about  a  table,  eating.  The  night 
was  warm  and  the  windows  were  open. 

He  walked  on,  intending  to  start  home 
soon,  for  the  night  promised  to  be  dark, 
and  Katie  was  not  fond  of  night  traveling 
under  such  conditions.  As  he  turned  the 
corner,  where  the  shadows  fell  heavy  and 
black,   he    was   surprised   to   see   David 


Glover  move  away  from  the  side  of  the 
building  and  hurriedly  lose  himself  in 
the  darkness. 

The  circumstance  struck  Clifford  as 
rather  singular,  and  he  said  to  an  ac- 
quaintance, whom  he  saw  a  few  moments 
afterward,  that  "  Glover  seemed  to  feel 
rather  lonely  in  Vego  Center." 

The  throngs  in  the  streets  were  still 
cheering,  as  Clifford  and  Katie  drove  out 
of  the  town. 

Even  after  they  had  reached  home  they 
could  see  the  rockets  still  ascending. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Glover  does  not  enjoy 
seeing  them,"  thought  Clifford,  as  he 
watered  the  ponies  and  led  them  into  the 
little  stable.  "  Well,  I  shall  be  glad  when 
the  matter  is  established  beyond  a  doubt, 
and  life  takes  up  its  old  ways  again." 

Morning  brought  a  bewildering  sur- 
prise. Before  the  sun  had  risen,  a  horse- 
man clattered  up  to  the  house  and 
knocked  without  dismounting. 

Clifford  hastily  dressed  and  opened  the 
door.  A  slip  of  paper  was  handed  to  him 
by  a  deputy  sheriff.  He  glanced  at  it 
and  saw  that  it  was  a  subpoena  to  appear 
at  once  before  some  legal  functionary  in 
Vego  Center. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  he  asked,  in 
bewilderment  and  apprehension. 

"Just  this,"  said  the  officer.  "The 
ballot-box  and  returns  are  missing  from 
the  poll-room.  The  officers  have  been 
informed  that  you  can  probably  give  some 
information  that  will  tend  to  show  who 


64 

took  them.     Of  course  it  was  some  enemy 
of  Vego  Center!" 

Clifford  instantly  recalled  that  hasty 
glimpse  of  David  Glover  moving  away 
from  the  shadow  of  the  poll  building. 
The  possible  meaning  of  it  almost  made 
his  heart  stand  still.  He  knew  he  was  to 
be  asked  to  testify  against  Glover.  But 
he  said  nothing  of  this  to  Katie. 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIRAGE. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

FALSE    ACCUSATION. 

HE  officer  looked  ques- 
tioningly  at  Clifford 
King,  in  whose  face 
anxiety  was  plainly 
written. 

"I  —  I   may  speak 
to  my  sister?"  Clifford  asked. 

"  And  eat  a  bite,  too,  if  you  like.  I 
don't  mind  waiting  a  few  minutes.  It's 
quite  a  jaunt  out  here,  and  my  horse  is  a 
little  tired." 

Clifford  turned  back  into  the  house,  to 
meet  Katie  coming  from  her  room.  She 
had  heard  the  knock  and  the  talk  and  had 
risen  also  and  dressed. 

"  I've  got  to  go  to  town  at  once,"  Clif- 
ford said.  "  Of  course  that  man  repeated 
what  I  said  to  him  about  seeing  Mr. 
Glover  near  the  poll  building!  It 
makes  me  wish  we  had  stayed  at  home 
yesterday." 


Both  knew  that,  whatever  might  be  the 
result  to  Mr.  Glover,  it  would  rekindle  his 
animosity  against  Clifford.  Perhaps,  too, 
Mr.  Glover  was  entirely  innocent  of  anj 
wrong-doing.  He  might  have  had  a  per- 
fectly valid  reason  for  being  near  the  poll- 
room  and  at  the  same  time  not  wishing  to 
be  recognized. 

"  It's  too  bad!"  said  Katie,  with  trem- 
ulous lip.  "  Eight  when  Mr.  Glover  is 
beginning  to  think  kindly  of  you!  He 
is  sure  to  blame  you." 

"  Has  any  one  been  arrested  for  the 
theft  of  the  ballot-box?"  Clifford  stepped 
to  the  door  and  asked  the  question  of  the 
officer. 

"  No,  not  so  far  as  I've  heard.  I  don't 
know  what  news  they've  got,  nor  what 
they're  expecting  to  try  to  show  by  you. 
I  reckon  you  could  tell  that?  They're 
keeping  everything  quiet." 

He  eyed  Clifford  inquiringly  as  he  said 
this. 

Clifford  turned  back  into  the  house 
without  answering. 

"  I'm  going  with  you!"  Katie  declared. 
"  I'll  make  some  coffee  and  cook  some 
eggs,  which  won't  take  long.  Tell  him 
we'll  be  ready  to  go  in  a  short  time." 

Then  she  hurried  into  the  kitchen, 
leaving  Clifford  to  talk  with  the  officer, 
who  had  now  dismounted  and  was  pre- 
paring to  lead  his  horse  to  the  drinking 
trough. 

"  With  the  ballot  box  and  returns 
missing,  it  will  be  impossible,  of  course, 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  M1BAGE. 


65 


for  us  to  show  that  Vego  Center  won  the 
election,"  the  officer  explained,  as  Clif- 
ford walked  with  him  toward  the  well. 
"  Unless  they  can 
be  found,  or  the 
guilty  party  made 
to  confess,  there 
will  probably  have 
to  be  a  new  elec- 
tion." 

Finding  that 
Clifford  did  not 
volunteer  the  story 
of  which  he  was 
supposedly  in  pos- 
session, the  officer 
resorted  to  leading 
questions  to  extract 
it.  But  Clifford 
had  learned  a  les- 
son from  the  result 
of  his  incautious 
statements  of  the 
evening  before,  and 
was  wary. 

"  It  might  wrong 
an  innocent  man,  if 
I  should  say  what  I 
think  they  intend 
to  question  me 
about,"  he  mused. 

Clifford  and  Katie  drove  into  town  in 
the  spring  wagon,  with  the  officer  jogging 
along  at  their  side  on  his  horse.  A  brisk 
wind  arose  and  the  dust  came  up  the 
beaten  road  in  clouds.     Though  the  hour 


was  early,  the  south  wind  was  hot  and 
wilting.  Now  and  then  an  agile  sand 
lizard,  delighting  in  the  heat,  scampered 


I  don't  wonder  he  rides  away,"  said  Mrs.  Glover. — See  page  67. 


along  in  front  of  one  of  the  wheels  as  if 
tempting  its  fate. 

"  This  sort  of  weather  will  be  hard  on 
the  crops,"  Clifford  observed. 

"  Yes,   if  it  keeps  up  it  will  wither 


66 


IN  THE  LAND  OF   THE  MIBAGE. 


a  mighty  big  crop  of  hopes.  It  won't 
do  Vego  Center  much  good  to  get  the 
county  seat  if  the  county  raises  noth- 
ing." 

Katie's  mind  was  so  burdened  that  she 
could  hardly  endure  the  talk  about  ordin- 
ary things.  More  than  once  her  blue 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  When  he  observed 
this,  Clifford  became  silent.  At  last 
Katie  leaned  her  elbow  upon  the  end  of 
the  wagon-seat,  and,  covering  her  eyes 
with  her  small  brown  hand,  strove  to 
regain  a  quiet  spirit.  "  Oh,  Father, 
whatever  comes,  keep  us  close  to  thee. 
We  will  trust  thee."  And  when  her  head 
was  lifted,  her  brother  saw  a  calm,  strong 
light  in  the  eyes  she  turned  to  him,  and 
he,  too,  was  strengthened. 

When  they  reached  Vego  Center  her 
prayer  had  received  its  answer.  The  miss- 
ing ballot  box  had  been  found,  and  the 
man  who  had  taken  it  from  the  polling 
place  was  under  arrest  and  had  confessed 
his  crime.  Glover  was  innocent,  as  this 
showed. 

Katie  laid  her  head  on  her  hands  as 
she  sat  in  the  wagon  seat,  after  the  officer 
had  turned  away,  and  sent  up  a  fervent 
thank-offering.  Clifford  sympathetically 
placed  a  hand  on  her  folded  ones,  and  she 
took  it  in  her  palms. 

"Oh,  Clifford!"  she  said,  lifting  her 
head  and  looking  at  him  through  eyes 
that  sparkled  with  tears,  "  I  am  so  glad 
that  you  didn't  have  to  go  before  any 
court  and  tell  that  story!    How  we  have 


wronged  Mr.  Glover  by  even  thinking 
that  he  could  do  such  a  thing!" 

Clifford  was  silent,  his  hand  still  rest- 
ing in  his  sister's. 

"  I  suppose  Glover  will  hear  that  he 
was  suspected.  Why  couldn't  I  have 
kept  from  drawing  attention  to  his  pres- 
ence! I  shall  see  him,"  he  said  a  mo- 
ment later,  "and  tell  him  all  there  is  to 
it.  It  is  only  fair  to  him,  as  doubtless  he 
will  hear  the  rumor." 

Clifford  had  never  seen  a  more  beau- 
tiful morning  than  that  on  which  he  set 
out  to  visit  Mr.  Glover.  The  boisterous 
winds  had  ceased  to  blow,  the  air  was 
sweet  and  cool  and  the  sky  was  an  arch 
of  purest  blue.  Even  the  pony  seemed  to 
feel  the  inspiration  of  the  morning,  and 
without  a  word  of  command  broke  into  a 
brisk  canter. 

But  Clifford  was  not  able  to  enjoy  all 
this  as  he  otherwise  would  have  done. 
The  dread  of  the  coming  interview  with 
Glover  shadowed  his  spirits.  There  was 
a  prayer  in  his  heart,  though,  as  he  rode 
on,  and  there  was  a  satisfaction  in  know- 
ing that  Katie  was  praying  for  him  back 
in  the  little  house  he  had  left. 

He  found  Glover  with  horse  saddled, 
ready  to  ride  to  Columbus.  Though 
Glover  knew  that  Clifford  had  ap- 
proached, he  did  not  look  toward  him  or 
indicate  that  he  was  aware  of  the  youth's 
presence. 

Clifford's  face  was  pale  and  his  voice 
quivered  as  he  spoke.     Glover's  manner 


IN  THE  LAND  OF   THE  M1BAGE. 


67 


showed  that  he  had  already  heard  what  Glover  has  his  faults,  hut  he  tries  to  be 

Clifford  had  come  to  tell,  and  probably  honest.     He  was  passing  by  Vego  Center, 

a  garbled  and  incorrect  account.  coming  from  the  polling  place  at  Cam- 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  my  ride  eron,  and  he  thought  he'd  just  go  get  the 

into    town    with    that   officer,"    Clifford  Vego  Center  returns,  too.     He  went  up  to 

hesitatingly   began,   "  so   that   you   may  the  poll-room  and  stood  a  minute  in  the 


know  the  exact  truth." 

Glover  turned  on  him  with  fierce 
anger. 

"Not  a  word!"  he  declared.  "I  don't 
want  to  hear  a  word  from  you!  You 
failed  in  your  attempt  against  me,  and    as  he  left  the  place.: 


shadow,  listening  to  the  talk  in  the  house. 
It  ain't  no  more  than  natural,  seems  to 
me,  that  he  should  think  you  started  the 
story  that  he  stole  the  ballot  box  and 
returns,  as  long  as  he  saw  you  near  just 


now  you  want  to  try  to  explain  it  away." 
"  I  was  not  responsible  for  what  was 

done,   Mr.    Glover,"   said   Clifford.     "I 

only—" 

But    Glover    would    not    hear.      He 

swung  into  the  saddle,  pulled  the  head  of 

his  horse  around  with  an  impatient  jerk 

and  rode  away. 

"  I  don't  wonder  he  rides  away,"  ex- 


Clifford  was  glad  that  Mrs.  Glover  had 
been  willing  to  listen  to  his  explanation, 
and  hoped  that  through  her  it  would 
reach  Mr.  Glover.  Nevertheless,  he  rode 
home  with  a  feeling  of  depression  and 
sadness. 

The  discovery  of  the  missing  ballot  box 
and  returns,  and  the  admissions  of  the 
thief,  decided  the  county  seat  contest  in 


plained  Mrs.  Glover,  who  had  come  to  the    favor   of   Vego    Center,   though   a   suit, 

door.     "  He  is  very  much  hurt."  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  an  appeal  and 

"I'm  sure  he  has  a  wrong  idea  of  the    protest,  which  was  not  likely  to  change 


whole  matter,  which  I  wanted  to  correct," 
said  Clifford,  with  pain  and  regret. 
"  I  will  explain  it  to  you,  if  you'll  let 
me,"  he  anxiously  continued. 

She  remained  silent,  and  Clifford  told 
her  the  whole  story. 

"  Mr.  Glover  hadn't  a  thing  to  do  with 
taking  that  ballot  box!"  she  declared. 
"  Nobody  knows  better  than  me  that  Mr. 
Glover  has  his  faults;  but  there's  one 
thing  he  wouldn't  do  —  steal!  Nor  he 
won't  cheat  anybody,  if  he  knows  it.     Mr. 


the  result,  was  entered  in  the  courts  by 
the  people  of  Columbus. 

Whatever  talk  Mrs.  Glover  had  with 
her  husband  concerning  Clifford's  state- 
ment, it  did  not  change  Glover's  outward 
attitude.  He  passed  Clifford  without  a 
word,  whenever  they  chanced  to  meet  in 
the  road,  and  avoided  such  meetings  as 
much  as  he  could.  Still,  Clifford  could 
not  hear  that  Glover  was  engaged  in  any 
work  of  detraction,  and  for  this  he  was 
sincerely  thankful. 


you,"  said  the  kind-hearted  superinten- 
dent. "  He  says  he  has  nothing  against 
you,  but  he  feels  very  harshly  toward 
your  brother  and  bases  his  opposition 
solely  on  that.     I  am  so  sorry!     I  tried 


68  IN  THE  LAND   OF  THE  MIBAGE. 

Toward  the  close  of  summer  the  town- 
ship in  which  the  Glovers  and  Kings  lived 
was  organized  into  a  school  district,  and 
a  frame  building  was  erected  for  a  school- 
houso.  There  were  in  the  district  a  num- 
ber of  children  of  school  age,  and  it  was  to  talk  him  out  of  it,  but  I  couldn't 
the  intention  to  have  a  school  later  on. 

Katie  King  had  looked  forward  to  this 
time  with  much  interest,  for  she  hoped 
to  secure  the  position  of  teacher.  She 
now  consulted  some  of  her  friends  on  the 
subject,  and  when  Mrs.  Kendall,  the 
county  superintendent  of  public  instruc- 
tion, came  out  from  Garden  City  to  look 
the  district  over,  Katie  accompanied  her 
on  her  rounds,  and  spoke  of  her  desire  to 
many  of  the  people. 

She  would  have  interviewed  Mr.  Glover 
at  this  time,  but  her  courage  was  not 
equal  to  her  wishes 


CHAPTEE  VI. 


THE    LITTLE    SCHOOLMA'AM    WINS. 


was    sup- 
so    many 


ATIE    KING 
ported    by 

friends  in  her  desire  to 
become  the  school 
teacher,  that  she  con- 
tinued her  efforts  to 
obtain  the  school  in 
The  way  he  now  spite  of  the  opposition  of  David  Glover; 
ignored  Clifford  made  her  timid.  How-  and,  by  the  advice  of  the  county  superin- 
ever,  she  asked  Mrs.  Kendall  to  talk  with  tendent,  attended  the  county  normal 
him  on  the  subject.  Glover  was  in  many  school,  held  in  Garden  City  in  Septem- 
ways  a  man  of  influence  and  commanded    ber. 

a  considerable  following,  and  his  friend-  She  successfully  passed  the  required 
ship  or  opposition  might  be  sufficient  to  examinations  at  the  close  of  the  normal, 
decide  the  question  of  who  was  to  teach  and  was  glad  to  return  home.  It  seemed 
the  school.  good  to  be  again  with  Clifford  in  the 

Katie  remained  at  home  in  a  state  of    little  prairie  house  that  had  become  so 
anxiety  while  Mrs.  Kendall  was-  absent    dear  to  both.     Besides,  religious  services 


on  her  mission.  When  Katie  saw  the 
buggy  returning  she  walked  out  along  the 
road  to  meet  it.  Disappointment  was 
written  in  Mrs.  Kendall's  face. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  dear,  that  he 


of  more  than  ordinary  interest  were  being 
held  in  Columbus  and  she  wanted  to  at- 
tend them. 

In  all  new  countries  people  willingly 
go  long  distances  to  meetings  of  any  kind, 


says  he  will  do  everything  he  can  against    but  in  few  new  countries  are  long  dis- 


IN  THE  LAND   OF   THE  MIRAGE. 


69 


tances  traveled  so  easily  as  on  the  prairies. 
There  the  roads  are  almost  as  smooth  and 
firm  as  asphalt,  when  once  the  buffalo 
grass  is  beaten  down  by  passing  hoofs  and 
vehicles.  The  round  trip  to  Columbus 
was  to  Katie  and  Clifford  only  a  delight, 
on  those  glorious  moonlight  nights. 

The  stars  were  brighter  and  more  beau- 
tiful than  any  gems.  The  round  moon 
shone  like  a  silver  disk.  The  clattering 
hoofs  of  the  ponies,  the  rattle  of  the 
wheels,  together  with  conversation  and 
snatches  of  song,  gave  to  the  trips  a  de- 
lightful air.  The  settlers  attended  the 
meetings  from  far  and  near,  and  the  gos- 
pel songs  which  they  often  sang  as  they 
rolled  homeward  in  the  glorious  moon- 
light, sounded  through  the  clear  distances 
with  a  strange  sweetness. 

"  I  am  asking  for  help  to  bear  as  I 
should  the  disappointment  of  not  getting 
that  school,  if  the  disappointment  comes," 
said  Katie,  as  she  and  Clifford  drove 
home  one  night.  "  Sometimes  I  fear  I 
am  setting  my  heart  on  it  too  much  for 
my  good." 

With  the  coming  of  the  cool,  crisp 
mornings  of  October,  the  mirages  took  on 
a  new  character.  Perhaps  the  things  be- 
held were  not  really  the  result  of  mirage, 
but  simply  of  a  clarified  atmosphere, 
though  there  were  many  things  to  make 
one  believe  them  to  be  caused  by  mirage. 

The  most  remarkable  of  these  visions 
was  witnessed  on  the  morning  of  the 
third    of    October.      Clifford    and    Katie 


had  risen  early,  intending  to  drive  into 
Vego  Center  to  transact  some  business 
and  purchase  supplies.  Clifford  was  the 
first  to  behold  it. 

"Come  out  here,  Katie!"  he  called, 
and  his  tone  hurried  her  to  the  door. 

Space  seemed  to  have  been  well-nigh 
annihilated.  The  new  school  -  house, 
which  was  two  miles  away,  had  appar- 
ently moved  up  within  easy  rifle  -  shot. 
Glover's  house  was  as  near.  His  stables 
and  corrals,  his  sod  hen-house,  his  un- 
sheltered spring  wagon,  even  the  big  dry- 
goods  box  he  had  made  into  a  well-frame 
—  all  were  distinctly  visible.  Buildings 
and  haystacks  miles  away  were  brought 
surprisingly  near;  while  Vego  Center  and 
Columbus,  the  one  on  the  west  and  the 
other  on  the  north,  were  apparently  so 
close  at  hand  that  less  than  a  half  hour's 
walk  would  have  sufficed  to  take  Clifford 
to  either  of  them.  Besides  all  this,  the 
hills  and  hollows  had  been  smoothed  out 
and  the  whole  country  looked  as  level  as 
a  table.  To  the  westward  the  land  rose 
slightly,  and  some  squares  of  plowed 
ground  and  grain  fields  made  it  resemble 
an  uptilted  section  map.  The  sight  was 
marvellous. 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it!"  said 
Katie,  after  an  interval  of  awed  silence. 
"  Is  it  mirage?" 

The  question  was  one  that  Clifford 
could  not  answer.  He  had  never  heard 
of  mirages  of  this  character. 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  can  almost  read  the 


70 


IN   THE  LAND  OF  THE  MURAGE. 


signs  on  those  Columbus  stores,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  just  the  wonderful  clear- 
ness of  the  air.  It  is  a  long  drive  over 
there,  and  yet  one  would  think  the 
distance  could  be  walked  in  a  few  min- 
utes." 

Almost  every  morning  for  a  week  or 
more  this  apparent  annihilation  of  space 
was  witnessed.  The  newspapers  spoke  of 
it,  and  reports  from  various  places  indi- 
cated that  it  was  to  some  extent  at  least 
the  effect  of  mirage;  for  reputable  men 
declared  they  had  beheld  buildings  so  far 
away  that  they  must  have  been  made 
visible  by  a  mirage,  otherwise  the  curva- 
ture of  the  earth  and  the  intervention  of 
well-known  elevations  of  land  would  have 
rendered  it  impossible  to  see  them,  no 
matter  how  crystalline  the  air. 

The  question  of  who  should  teach  the 
district  school,  the  salary  to  be  paid,  and 
other  matters,  came  up  at  a  meeting 
called  for  the  fifteenth,  in  the  school- 
house.  The  school  was  to  begin  the  first 
of  November. 

There  was  in  Katie's  face  a  heightened 
color  which  made  her  look  very  winning 
in  Clifford's  eyes,  as  they  drove  together 
to  the  meeting.  Katie  was  always  sweet, 
womanly  and  attractive.  As  for  Clifford, 
he  had  wonderfully  developed  in  the  few 
months  he  had  been  on  the  wide  prairies. 
The  work  and  responsibility  were  hurry- 
ing him  into  manhood. 

As  they  approached  the  wooden  hitch- 
ing rack  that  had  been  set  in  place  near 


the  school-house,  they  saw  Glover  driving 
up  the  road  with  his  family. 

When  Katie  and  Clifford  entered  the 
house  they  found  it  already  well  filled. 
The  question  of  who  should  teach  their 
children  was  rightly  considered  an  im- 
portant one  by  these  settlers,  who,  what- 
ever might  be  their  other  differences,  held 
firmly  to  that  grand  rallying  -  cry  of  the 
great  State  of  Kansas:  "A  school-house 
on  every  hilltop  and  no  saloon  in  the 
valley!" 

David  Glover  walked  quietly  into  the 
room,  leading  his  little  boy  by  the  hand. 
He  was  followed  by  Mrs.  Glover,  who  was 
accompanied  by  her  two  little  daughters. 
A  buzz  of  excited  talk  swept  through  the 
room,  and  Katie  King's  face  grew  un- 
comfortably hot,  for  she  was  sure  that 
much  of  this  talk  concerned  her.  Clif- 
ford also  colored  and  shifted  uneasily  in 
his  seat. 

Promptly  at  two  o'clock  the  chairman 
of  the  school-board  called  the  meeting  to 
order,  and,  to  explain  its  purpose,  read 
the  call.  The  clerk  pushed  some  papers 
about  his  desk  and  began  his  notes  of  the 
minutes. 

Clifford  glanced  to  the  right,  where  sat 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Satterlee.  Mr.  Satterlee, 
who  had  made  himself  prominent  in  his 
new  home,  had  promised  to  champion 
Katie's  interests. 

Satterlee  was  a  very  tall  man,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  taller  than  ever  as  he  unbent 
and  stretched  himself  to  his  full  height 


IN  THE  LAND  OF   THE   M1BAGE.  71 

in  the  aisle.       An  expectant  hush  fol-    culation  what  she  had  expected.     Clifford 
lowed.  stared  in  amazement,  almost  unable-to  be- 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  began,  clearing  his  lieve  what  he  had  heard.  Even  the 
throat  and  clutching  the  seat  with  his  chairman  looked  surprised,  while  a  storm 
muscular   right 

hand  as  if  the  pros-  iH&Mifibi^M 

sure  gave  him  con- 
fidence, "  I  present 
to  this  meeting 
the  name  of  Miss 
Katie  King  for 
teacher,  and  move 
you  that  we  in- 
struct the  board  to 
employ  her  to 
teach  the  first  term 
of  our  school." 

Instantly  Glover 
arose,  steadying 
himself  on  his 
short  legs  and 
thrusting  one  hand 
deep  into  his  trous- 
ers' pocket.  The 
silence  that  ensued 
was  so  great  that 
the  dropping  of  the 
proverbial  pin 
might     have     been 

heard.  Before  he  spoke  it  grew  absolutely 
painful. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  clearing  his 
throat,  which  seemed  husky,  "  I  second 
the  motion!" 

The  reaction  made  Katie  King  tremble 
and  turn  pale.     This  was  not  by  any  cal- 


"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "I  second  the  motion!" 


of  excited  whispers  swept  through  the 
room. 

Glover  sat  down  and  the  chairman  rose 
and  stated  the  motion.  Then  Glover  got 
up  again,  and  this  is  what  he  said: 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  a  short  time  since  I 
expected    to    oppose    any    motion    that 


72 


IN  THE  LAND  OF   THE  Mm  AGE. 


might  be  made  here  to  select  Miss  King 
as  the  teacher  of  our  school.  Instead,  I 
stand  here  to  support  it.  It  is  very  hard 
for  a  man  of  my  disposition  to  admit  that 
he  has  been  in  the  wrong,  but  that  is 
what  I  want  to  do.  I  have  discovered 
that  Miss  King's  brother  did  not  assist 
the  officers  of  Vego  Center  in  trying  to 
fasten  a  crime  on  me,  and  the  mirages  we 


Before  Glover  closed,  Katie  King  was 
in  tears  and  Clifford  was  visibly  affected. 

The  motion  to  choose  Miss  Katie  to 
conduct  the  school  was  carried  without  a 
dissenting  vote.  She  was  one  of  the  first 
to  take  Glover  by  the  hand  when  the 
meeting  closed,  and  Clifford  followed  her 
closely  in  this  act. 

"  You'll  not  find  anybody  in  the  dis- 


have  had  lately  have  shown  me  that  I  was    trict  that  will  stand  by  you  in  your  work 


deceived  in  thinking  he  took  me  to  the 
southeast  quarter  of  section  twenty  in 
the  township  north.  I  thought  he  did, 
because  the  trees  on  the  creek  looked  so 
near  that  day;  but  last  week  those  trees 
came  closer  down  to  me,  far  closer,  than 
they  did  the  day  he  showed  me  my  claim, 
and  I  knew  then  that  a  mirage  had  fooled 
me  at  the  very  outset. 


with    more    willingness    than    I    shall!" 
Glover  declared. 

David  Glover  kept  his  promise.  The 
school  was  a  success.  The  Kings  never 
had  better  friends  than  the  Glovers,  nor 
friends  they  valued  more.  A  Sunday- 
school  was  organized  in  the  school-house. 
Services  were  also  held  there  on  Sunday 
mornings.     Old  rivalries  were  lost  sight 


I  have  publicly  opposed  the  boy  and    of,  and  close  friendships  formed.     To-day 


his  sister,  and  I  want  to  make  amends  in 
a  manner  fully  as  public.  Out  here  in 
this  new  country  we  ought  to  live  hon- 
estly, and  there  is  room  enough  so  that 
we  do  not  need  to  jostle  one  another." 


church  spires  rise  heavenward,  school 
bells  ring,  white  houses  gleam  where  once 
the  homesteader's  "  shack "  rested,  and 
one  finds  it  hard  to  believe  that  this  was 
ever  the  land  of  the  mirage. 


THE     END. 


The  Shack  on  the  Plateau. 


BY  JOHN   H.  WHITSON. 


R-R-R-R-R-R — 

Bicycle    was    racing 
against  fire. 

The  bicycle  bore  a 
boy  and  a  small  mail- 
bag.  The  boy  was 
Jepthah  Gwin,  the  youthful  carrier  of  the 
star  route  mail. 

"  Parmenter  is  in  town,  I  know,  for  I 
saw  him  just  before  I  left!" 

It  was  not  this  thought  of  Parmenter, 
however,  but  a  thought  of  Parmenter's 
little  girl,  which  made  the  young  bicy- 
clist's feet  "  pump  "  harder  on  the  pedals. 

On  the  top  of  that  plateau,  toward 
which  both  he  and  the  fire  were  racing, 
was  Parmenter's  home,  an  unpretentious 
prairie  "  shack,"  containing  Flossie  Par- 
menter, whose  age  was  less  than  twelve. 

Jep  Gwin  had  observed  the  smoke  of 
the  fire  soon  after  leaving  Paragon  City. 
It  was  then  in  the  west.  In  less  than  an 
hour  it  had  swept  across  the  northern 
horizon.  Now  it  was  climbing  the  grassy 
sand-hills. 

"  She'll  be  seared  to  death,"  was  his 
reflection.  "  It's  a  bad  fire,  too.  The 
grass  is  so  dry  it  burns  like  shavings. 
And  not  a  furrow  round  his  house  for  a 
fire-guard!  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Par- 
menter would  think  to  see  me  on  this  side 


trail,  heading  toward  his  house;  but  I'm 
going  there,  just  the  same." 

Lewis  Parmenter  and  the  young  mail- 
carrier  were  not  on  good  terms.  Not 
long  before,  Jepthah  Gwin's  father  had 
tried  to  get  Parmenter's  claim  by  a  "  con- 
test "  in  the  United  States  Land  Office  at 
Paragon  City,  taking  advantage  of  that 
provision  of  the  land  law  which  provides 
for  a  contest  when  the  holder  of  public 
land  does  not  comply  with  all  the  legal 
requirements.  Though  Gwin  had  failed 
to  get  the  land,  the  incident  provoked  a 
bitter  hostility  against  him  and  his  family 
on  the  part  of  Parmenter. 

So  violent  was  this  dislike  that  Par- 
menter would  not  speak  to  the  boy  when 
they  met  in  the  trail;  and  once,  when 
Jepthah  stopped  at  the  Parmenter  well 
to  get  a  drink,  being  very  hot  and  thirsty 
from  the  long  run  down  from  Pawnee 
Loup,  Parmenter  had  refused  him  the 
water  and  angrily  ordered  him  away. 

The  young  mail-carrier  could  not  help 
thinking  of  these  things,  as  he  sent  the 
bicycle  spinning  over  the  level,  lonely 
trail.  He  could  think  of  Parmenter  only 
as  ugly  and  mean;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
but  a  part  of  Parmenter's  cross-grained 
nature  that  he  should  leave  Flossie  alone 
in  the   shack   while   he   went  to   town, 


73 


74 


THE  SHACK  ON  THE  PLATEAU. 


a  thing  Parmenter  was  known  to  do 
often. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  fire  will  beat  me,"  he 
gasped,  as  he  saw  a  tongue  of  flame  leap 
upward  and  climb  like  a  writhing  red 
serpent  to  the  top  of  the  highest  hill. 
"  It's  on  the  plateau  now!" 

The  hillsides  over  which  the  fire  had 
passed  were  hot  and  smoldering;  the  de- 
vastated expanses  below  them  were  a 
blackened  waste.  The  fire  had  rioted 
wildly  through  the  heavier  grass  of  the 
sand-hills,  but  now  it  had  only  the  short 
buffalo-grass  with  which  to  feed  its  ener- 
gies. 

It  was  a  plains  fire,  and  not  a  true 
prairie  fire.  A  prairie  fire,  fed  by  a 
growth  of  tall  "blue-stem,"  gives  a  fire 
before  which  animals  and  men  flee  for 
their  very  lives;  but  a  plains  fire,  sus- 
tained only  by  the  short  buffalo-grass, 
may  roar  and  race,  and  still  do  little 
harm.  Often  it  is  possible  to  ride  a 
horse  through  such  a  fire  without  more 
injury  to  the  animal  than  a  singeing  of 
its  fetlocks  and  legs. 

Yet  the  fact  that  there  was  no  "  guard  " 
of  grassless  plowed  ground  surrounding 
and  protecting  Parmenter's  shack  made 
the  situation  serious  for  Flossie  Parmen- 
ter. The  house  might  be  ignited,  or 
Flossie,  in  trying  to  beat  the  flames  back 
from  the  doorway,  might  fire  her  dress 
and  be  burned  to  death. 

When  Jep  had  pedaled  to  the  top  of 
the  knoll  that  now  confronted  him,  he 


noticed  a  dozen  tongues  of  flame  shoot- 
ing out  like  red  sword  points,  staying  not 
a  moment  for  the  blockading  effect  of 
the  narrow,  grassless  trail,  but  hurrying, 
as  it  seemed,  straight  for  Parmenter's 
home. 

He  saw  Flossie  Parmenter  dart  out  and 
in  at  the  door. 

"  I  hope  she'll  not  try  to  run  away 
from  the  house,"  was  the  thought  and  the 
fear  that  thrilled  him.  "  If  she  does, 
the  fire  will  get  her  sure." 

He  recalled  how  Jasper  Kane's  mother 
had  tried  to  do  that,  the  year  before,  and 
had  been  sadly  burned.  In  his  alarm  he 
cried  out  to  Flossie  to  remain  in  the 
house,  that  he  was  coming;  but  of  course 
she  did  not  hear  him. 

To  gain  time  he  turned  the  bicycle 
sharply  from  the  trail,  thus  saving  the 
long  arm  of  an  angle.  Though  the 
buffalo-grass  was  short  and  seemingly  as 
smooth  as  a  velvet  sward,  it  was  really 
hillocky,  and  the  bicycle  jumped  and 
jarred.  Nevertheless,  he  bent  over  the 
handle-bars  and  threw  the  whole  strength 
of  his  limbs  and  the  weight  of  his  body 
upon  the  pedals. 

"  Go  back!  Go  back!"  he  shouted,  as 
he  looked  up  and  saw  her  again  appear 
at  the  door. 

He  was  moving  much  faster  than  the 
fire,  but  it  was  still  a  question  if  he 
would  not  be  beaten  in  the  race.  The 
crackle  and  roar  came  to  him  quite  plainly 
now.      Tumble-weeds,    big   as   tubs   and 


THE   SHACK  ON  THE  PLATEAU. 


75 


round  as  oranges,  ignited  and  flew  on  be- 
fore the  fire,  bounding  balls  of  flame, 
driven  by  the  brisk  wind.  Blazing  resin 
weeds  shot  high  into  the  air  like  burning 
arrows.  Over  all  hung  a  cloud  of  pun- 
gent smoke. 

He  swung  in  front  of  that  threatening 
red  line  and  gained  rapidly.  As  he  drew 
near  the  house,  Flossie  saw  him  and  ran 
out  to  meet  him.  Her  eyes  were  big  and 
bright,  and  she  was  dreadfully  fright- 
ened. He  set  her  in  front  of  him  on  the 
bicycle. 

"Is  there  water  in  the  troughs?"  he 
asked,  glancing  toward  the  motionless 
wind-mill. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  she  faltered. 

"  "We'll  soon  see.  I'm  going  to  take  you 
back  to  the  house.  You  mustn't  be 
afraid." 

Then  he  raced  on,  as  fast  as  before. 
He  reached  the  house  a  fourth  of  a  mile 
in  advance  of  the  fire;  and  in  the  short 
time  that  was  left  to  him  he  dampened 
the  sod  and  the  boards  on  the  side  of  the 
shack  which  the  fire  would  first  attack. 

Then  the  fire  came  down  with  a 
threatening  roar,  and  Jepthah  retreated 
into  the  flimsy  building,  with  the  child, 
the  bicycle  and  mail-bag,  and  a  pail  of 
water. 

He  heard  the  angry  crackle  of  the 
flames,  and  saw  them,  too,  through  the 
small  window,  as  they  leaped  to  the 
assault.     The  air  grew  hot  and  stifling. 

"Don't  be  scared,"  he  said  encourag- 


ingly to  Flossie.  "  If  the  house  should 
catch,  I  think  I  can  put  the  fire  out  with 
this  water.  I  don't  believe,  though,  it 
will  catch.  You  don't  feel  much  afraid, 
with  me  here,  do  you?" 

"  No,"  she  answered  bravely,  although 
there  was  a  tearful  note  in  her  voice,  and 
her  face  was  white.  "  No,  really  I  don't. 
I  was  scared,  though,  before  you  came. 
I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  good  boy, 
Jep  Gwin.  I'm  going  to  tell  papa  all 
about  it." 

Jep  blushed  and  looked  confused.  He 
was  wondering  what  Parmenter  would 
say,  when  Flossie  told  him  that  he,  Jep, 
was  a  good  boy. 

"  I  say,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  after 
they  had  watched  the  fire  a  little  longer, 
"  I  wish  you'd  tell  your  father  that  pa 
wasn't  just  trying  to  be  mean  when  he 
contested  his  claim.  We're  —  we're  aw- 
fully hard  up  —  and  it  seemed  's  if  pa 
had  to  take  every  chance  he  could  to 
make  a  little.  It  wasn't  just  pure  mean- 
ness, though  I  know  it  looks  that  way. 
Ma  and  I  felt  bad  because  it  happened, 
and  I'm  glad  enough  I  got  here  in  time 
to  help  you  to-day." 

"  I'll  tell  father,"  repeated  Flossie. 

She  did  tell  him,  and  the  result  was 
that  the  neighborhood  was  spared  the 
example  and  influence  of  a  feud  which 
might  have  wrought  much  evil.  And 
that  was  what  the  combination  of  a  kind- 
hearted  boy  and  a  bicycle  accomplished 
in  less  than  an  hour's  time. 


JOHNH.WHITSON 


^\  HEROINE 


OF  Tl+E 

Pl^LNS 


((WHEwr 

"  "  Walt  Dixon,  coming  quickly  in 
out  of  the  storm  with  a  trailing  rope 
about  his  waist,  drew  in  the  rope  with  a 
jerk  of  his  mittened  hand  and  closed  the 
door  with  a  bang. 

"You're  nearly  frozen,  I  know!"  de- 
clared Miss  Minnie,  who  had  been  wait- 
ing for  him.  "  Hurry  to  the  stove  and 
I'll  help  you  off  with  your  things.  Are 
the  ponies  and  cow  all  right?" 

"  Yes;  and  I  got  down  a  lot  of  feed  for 
'em.  It's  warm  as  toast  in  the  stable, 
but  it's  just  awful  outside!" 

He  stamped  over  to  the  stove,  shaking 
the  suow  from  his  shaggy  coat.  He  drew 
off  his  mittens  and  warmed  his  hands, 


while  his  sister  untied  the  rope,  took  the 
disfiguring  oil-cloth  mask  off  his  face,  and 
then  helped  him  out  of  the  heavy  coat. 

A  genuine  blizzard  was  screaming 
across  the  Kansas  plains.  So  snow-filled 
was  the  air  that  one  could  not  see  ten 
yards  in  any  direction.  It  was  a  dry 
snow,  fine  and  powdery  as  flour,  but  with 
almost  the  cutting  sting  of  powdered 
glass. 

The  forenoon  had  seemed  to  hold  the 
balmy  promise  of  spring.  It  had  been 
so  pleasant  that  Minnie  Dixon  had  taken 
a  long  gallop  on  her  pony.  Some  of  the 
farmers  had  even  set  their  plows  to  going. 
Then  the  blue-black  line,  scarcely  noticed 
at  first,  lifted  itself  high  in  the  sky,  and 


A  EEBOINE  OF   THE  PLAINS. 


77 


the  blizzard  leaped  out  of  the  north  with        There  was  a  square  window  in  each 

the  whiz  of  a  bolt  from  a  crossbow.  gable,  and  a  door  facing  the  east,  from 

As  the  storm  increased  in  severity  and  which  point  comes  the  least  wind.     This 

the  cold  grew  more  intense,  Miss  Minnie  door  was  reached  by  way  of  a  horizontal 

had  become  so  anxious  about  the  comfort  door  at  the  surface  and  by  a  short  flight 

of  the  cow  and  the  ponies  that  she  per-  of  earthen  steps.  One  who  has  never  seen 

mitted   her   brother   to   venture   to   the  a  well-kept  prairie  dug-out  will  perhaps 

stable,  with  one  end  of  a  long  rope  tied  not    readily    believe    how    cozy    such    a 

about  his  waist,  and  the  other  end  to  the  house  can  be  made,  by  means  of  white 

latch  of  the  outer  door,  that  on  his  return  plastering,  or  wall-paper,  pictures,  books 

he  might  not  miss  his  way.  and  flowers. 

"  I'm  glad  now  that  the  roof  doesn't        Miss  Minnie  Dixon  was  a  teacher  in  the 

stick  up  any  higher  than  it  does,"  she  intermediate  department  of  the  Webster 

said,  with  a  nervous  laugh,  after  helping  City   schools.      She   was   an   intelligent, 

him  out  of  the  coat.     It  was  a  man's  educated  young  woman,  but  dependent  on 

coat  and  a  world  too  big  for  him.     "  I  her  own  resources.      There  was  a  great 

used  to  feel  ashamed  of  this  little  dug-  scramble    for    government    land    at    the 

out,  but  in  such  a  storm  it  seems  good  to  time,  and  she  had  taken  this  pre-emption 

be  in  a  cellar!"  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres,  a  few 

"  A  dug-out  is  good  enough  for  any-  miles   out   of  town,   and  it   became   her 

body,  on  a  pre-emption,"  Walt  declared,  home  for  the  period  of  time  required  by 

glancing  round  the  interior,  "  and  it's  a  the  law  in  such  cases. 
lot  warmer  than  the  frame  houses  some  of        In  pleasant  weather  she  drove  in  and 

the  homesteaders  have  put  up."  out  daily.     At  other  times  she  boarded  in 

Walt  was  rather  proud  of  the  dug-out,  town;  but  Walt  remained  at  the  dug-out, 
for  it  was  largely  the  work  of  his  own  "  baching,"  when  his  sister  was  away, 
hands.  He  had  excavated  the  cellar-like  and  getting  along  as  well  as  he  could, 
lower  part,  and  had  put  together  the  However,  Minnie  had  been  at  home  now 
upper  part  and  the  roof,  of  "  ship-lap  "  several  days,  during  the  midwinter  vaca- 
boards  and  tarred  paper,  bracing  the  tion,  which  was  nearing  its  end. 
whole  securely  against  the  force  of  the  "  I  wish  I'd  gone  to  town  this  morn- 
winds  by  anchoring  the  corners  to  cedar  ing,"  she  said,  thoughtfully;  but  added, 
posts  set  deeply  in  the  ground.  The  a  moment  later:  "  No,  I  don't,  for  that 
inner  walls  he  had  plastered,  laying  the  would  have  left  you  here  in  the  storm 
plastering  on  the  firm  dry  earth,  to  which  alone,  and  I  should  have  been  worried 
it  readily  adhered.  about  you." 


78 


A   HEE01NE   OF   THE  PLAINS. 


"What  was  that?"  asked  Walt,  turning 
his  head.  "  I  thought  I  heard  wheels. 
Must  have  been  the  wind,  though!" 

His  sister  stepped  to  the  little  window 
in  the  south  gable  and  sought  to  look  out. 
The  air  was  a  white  blur,  which  her  sight 
could  not  penetrate.  Then  she,  too, 
heard  a  sound  which  unmistakably  was 
not  made  by  the  storm. 

"  It's  something  or  somebody!"  she  de- 
clared. 

Walt,  who  was  toasting  his  knees  by 
the  stove,  put  on  his  cap,  hurried  to  the 
door  and  stumbled  up  the  dark  passage. 
As  he  lifted  the  outer  door,  he  thrust  it 
against  the  legs  of  a  man,  whom  he  now 
dimly  saw  through  the  swirling  drift. 
Then  he  heard  a  horse  stamp,  and  knew 
that  a  team  had  been  driven  into  the  lee 
of  the  house. 

"Come  right  in!"  he  said  cheerily. 
"Awful  storm,  isn't  it?" 

The  man  tried  to  reach  the  steps,  but 
stumbled,  and  was  only  saved  from  a  fall 
by  the  strong  hands  of  the  boy. 

"I'm  —  I'm  purty  well  tuckered!"  the 
man  mumbled  in  a  dull  way.  "  I  thought 
I  was  out  o'  the  road  till  I  —  I  struck 
your  house." 

Walt  caught  the  man's  arm  to  support 
bim;  and  when  they  had  stumbled  down 
the  passage,  the  inner  door  was  opened  by 
Miss  Minnie.  Not  till  he  was  in  the 
room  did  Walt  know  that  the  man  was 
Timothy  Jepson,  who  lived  on  a  claim 
two  miles  south. 


Jepson  was  so  chilled  and  benumbed 
he  could  hardly  move,  and  when  they  got 
his  wraps  off  they  discovered  that  he  was 
somewhat  frozen.  He  wanted  to  get 
near  the  fire,  but  Miss  Minnie  insisted 
that  he  must  not  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
she  had  Walt  bring  snow  with  which  to 
rub  Mr.  Jepson's  hands  and  feet.  Mean- 
while, Jepson's  team  was  taking  the 
storm;  the  force  of  which  was,  however, 
much  cut  off  by  the  upper  part  of  the 
dug-out. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  make  it  home," 
said  Jepson,  in  an  exhausted  voice.  "  I've 
coal  and  stuff  in  the  wagon,  and  the  chil- 
dren hain't  a  thing  in  the  house.  I  could 
'a'  staid  at  Fairehild's  —  he  wanted  me 
to  —  but  the  children — " 

"  Are  they  alone?"  Miss  Minnie 
anxiously  asked. 

"  All  alone,"  said  Jepson.  "  Soon's 
I  git  a  bit  warm  I've  got  to  push  on 
home." 

Tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  kind- 
hearted  young  woman,  and  with  the  tears 
came  a  heroic  resolve.  The  Jepson  chil- 
dren were  motherless.  There  were  three 
of  them,  the  oldest  not  yet  ten.  In 
fancy  she  saw  them,  hungry,  freezing 
and  terrified,  in  the  poor,  tireless,  food- 
less  "  shack  "  rocking  in  the  blizzard  as 
if  it  would  go  to  pieces.  She  saw  that 
Jepson  could  not  go  on;  that  it  would  be 
suicidal  for  him  to  attempt  it.  He  had 
fought  the  gale  until  his  strength  was 
gone.     She  even  wondered  if  his  team 


A  HEROINE  OF  THE  PLAINS. 


79 


could  make  the  remainder  of  the  jour- 
ney. 

Ordinarily  Miss  Minnie  was  not  a 
courageous  young  woman.  She  had  been 
known  to  scream  at  sight  of  a  mouse,  and 
to  run  from  a  prairie  rattlesnake  as  if  it 
were  a  grizzly  bear,  even  though  she  had 
a  stick  in  her  hand  with  which  she  might 
easily  have  dispatched  it.  She  sometimes 
wondered  at  the  daring  that  had  induced 
her  to  take  the  pre-emption,  and  could 
only  account  for  it  by  saying  that  she  had 
been  made  temporarily  insane  by  the 
"  land  -  fever."  But  now  courage  of  a 
quality  she  had  never  before  known  was 
rising  in  her  heart.  She  was  not  ignorant 
of  the  danger  that  flew  on  the  blizzard's 
snowy  wings.  Not  for  forty  pre-emptions 
would  she  have  ventured  out  into  the 
storm,  but  those  poor  children  drew  her. 

"  Mr.  Jepson  can't  go,"  was  her  inward 
comment,  "and  I  won't  let  Walt  risk  it, 
though  he'd  go  in  a  minute  if  I'd  suggest 
it,  God  bless  him!  But  he  might  get  lost. 
Oh,  those  poor  little  children!" 

"  I'm  going  to  take  the  load  on  to  Mr. 
Jepson's,"  she  said,  speaking  to  Walt. 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  he  could  not  be- 
lieve it,  but  he  saw  that  she  was  in 
earnest. 

"  You'll  freeze  to  death!"  he  gasped. 
"You'll  get  lost!  If  it's  got  to  be  done, 
better  let  me  try  it!" 

"  No,  I'm  going  myself.  I'm  quite 
strong,  you  know,  and  I'm  older.  I'll 
put  on  your  coat  and  I'll  wrap  up  well. 


I'll  not  get  lost  if  I  keep  close  to  the 
fence.  Go  out  and  see  how  Mr.  Jepson's 
horses  are.  I'd  rather  take  them,  if 
they're  all  right;  they're  already  hitched 
up,  and  our  ponies  might  not  want  to  go 
in  that  direction,  and  so  might  get  out  of 
the  trail." 

Walt  hurried  away  to  do  her  bidding, 
though  he  was  filled  with  misgivings. 
He  found  that  Jepson's  horses  were  some- 
what protected  by  blankets,  but  they  were 
uneasy  and  evidently  very  cold. 

"  They'll  do,  I  guess,"  he  muttered. 
"  It's  only  a  pull  of  two  miles,  and  they'll 
keep  to  the  trail,  as  she  said,  better'n  our 
ponies.  But  I'm  afraid  for  her,  though. 
I'm  awfully  afraid!" 

He  clawed  the  snow  out  of  his  eyes 
and  tried  to  look  down  the  trail  that  led 
toward  Jepson's.  He  could  see  nothing 
but  that  smothering  white  blur,  could  not 
even  see  the  board  and  wire  fence  of  the 
Arkansas  Kiver  Cattle  Company  that  ran 
close  beside  the  trail,  though  he  knew 
that  a  half-dozen  steps  would  take  him 
to  it. 

"  The  horses  '11  do,"  he  announced,  re- 
entering the  dug-out,  "  but  I  hate  awfully 
to  have  you  try  it,  Min!  I'm  afraid 
you'll  get  lost,  or  freeze.  You  don't 
know  how  cold  it  is  and  how  thick  the 
snow  is." 

She  was  buttoning  on  some  heavy 
leggings.  Mr.  Jepson  had  been  induced 
by  her  to  rest  on  the  lounge.  He  was 
moaning  from  the   pain   of  his  aching 


80 


A   HEBOINE   OF   THE  PLAINS. 


hands  and  feet  and  seemed  more  stupefied 
than  when  he  had  come  in.  If  he  heard 
their  talk,  he  did  not  heed  it. 

"  You  do  what  you  can  to  make  him 
comfortable,"  she  said  in  low  tones,  with 
a  nod  toward  the  lounge.  "  Don't  let 
him  leave  the  house.  Tell  him  I've 
gone  on,  and  that  his  children  are  all 
right.  And  don't  expect  me  back  until 
you  see  me.  I  shall  not  try  to  get  back 
until  after  the  blizzard.  And  you  must 
stay  right  here,  Walt!  You  will,  won't 
you?  And  don't  venture  to  the  stable 
without  the  rope!" 

Walt  promised,  then  reluctantly  got 
down  the  heavy  coat  and  the  blizzard 
mask.  He  also  got  her  some  wraps  and 
her  warm  mittens. 

She  looked  hardly  human  when  she 
was  ready  for  the  journey.  The  black 
oil-cloth  mask,  the  big  comforter  about 
her  neck  and  ears,  the  thick  badger-skin 
overcoat,  and  the  "  arctic  "  overshoes,  so 
transformed  and  concealed  her  that  her 
most  intimate  friends  could  not  have 
recognized  her. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  lifting  her  mask 
and  kissing  him,  as  they  stood  together 
in  the  tunnel  between  the  two  doors. 

Then  Walt  lifted  the  outer  door,  that 
"  good-by  "  ringing  unpleasantly  in  his 
ears,  and  they  were  out  in  the  storm.  In 
another  minute  she  was  in  the  driver's 
seat  and  Walt  was  turning  the  horses. 
She  called  "  good-by  "  as  the  storm  swal- 
lowed her,  and  Walt  stumbled  back  into 


the  dug-out  with  a  foreboding  ache  in  his 
heart. 

No  one  could  have  known  better  than 
Minnie  Dixon  that  she  was  facing  death 
in  making  this  attempt  to  reach  and 
succor  Jepson's  children.  The  fury  of  a 
true  Western  blizzard  is  scarcely  to  be 
conceived  by  people  accustomed  only  to 
the  so-called  "  blizzards "  of  the  eastern', 
and  central  states;  but  some  may  get  an 
idea  of  its  terror  by  recalling  the  widely- 
published  account  of  how,  a  few  years 
ago,  in  a  Dakota  town,  men  with  ropes 
tied  to  them  to  secure  their  safety,  groped 
in  the  streets  to  find  school  children  who 
had  been  overtaken  by  a  sudden  blizzard 
while  on  their  way  from  school  to  their 
homes. 

Not  even  the  wraps  and  the  thick 
badger-skin  coat  could  wholly  protect  her 
from  the  icy  sting  of  the  blast.  The  wind 
tore  at  her  sometimes  as  if  it  would  snatch 
her  from  the  wagon  seat.  She  could  not 
see  the  heads  of  the  horses;  could  scarcely 
see  anything.  Her  breath  congealed  at 
the  openings  in  the  mask  until  she  had  to 
dig  the  icy  flakes  away  with  her  mittened 
hands.  The  horses  floundered  and 
stumbled.  They  were  benumbed,  and 
the  snow  was  beginning  to  drift  badly. 
But  they  seemed  to  advance  with  such 
confidence  that  her  courage  grew  strong. 

"  It's  only  two  miles,"  she  thought. 
"  Two  miles  is  no  distance,  on  the  plains, 
and  we've  the  storm  at  our  backs  to  hurry 
us  on." 


A  HEROINE   OF   THE  PLAJNS.  81 

The  horses  went  fairly  well  for  a  She  climbed  stiffly  out  of  the  high  seat, 
time.  Though  they  stumbled,  they  did  got  the  near  horse  by  the  bit,  and  turned 
not  fall.  Then  Minnie 
Dixon's  heart  seemed  to 
leap  into  her  throat. 
She  discovered  that  the 
wind,  which  had  been 
at  her  back,  was  com- 
ing over  her  left  shoul- 
der. She  tried  to 
fancy  at  first  that  this 
might  be  caused  by  a 
bend  in  the  trail,  but 
when  it  continued  she 
knew  it  was  not  that. 

"We  must  be  out  of 
the  trail!"  she  gasped. 
"  And  if  we're  out  of  it 
we'll  never  find  it!" 

She  pulled  on  the 
lines  and  the  horses 
stopped.  They  were 
obedient,  though  bewil- 
dered. The  instinct  by 
which  a  horse  is  said  to 
know  the  way  home 
counts  for  little  in  a 
blizzard. 

"  I  must  find  the 
fence,"  was  her 
thought.  "It's  bound 
to  be  on  the  right. 
The    wind    can't    have 


Her  knock  was  answered  by  Jepson's  oldest  boy.— See  page  Ss2. 


changed  so  suddenly,  and  if  I  keep  it  on  the  team  in  the  direction  she  wanted  to 
my  right  side  I'm  sure  to  strike  the  fence,  go,  taking  what  she  believed  to  be  a  south- 
I  hope  we  haven't  gone  far  from  it!"  west  course.     A  due  west  course  gave  the 


82 


A  EEB01NE  OF   TEE  PLAINS. 


blizzard  a  broadside  sweep  that  was  unen- 
durable. 

Minnie  Dixon  was  badly  frightened 
before  she  reached  the  fence.  It  took  her 
so  long  a  time  that  she  began  to  think 
that  perhaps  the  wind  had  changed  and 
she  was  lost.  What  that  meant  she  dared 
not  picture.  No  shipwrecked,  drowning 
mariner  ever  put  hand  on  buoyant  spar 
with  greater  delight  than  that  felt  by  her 
when  she  stumbled  against  the  fence. 

"Oh,  God!  I  thank  thee!"  she  mur- 
mured, from  her  overflowing  heart. 

She  did  not  remount  the  seat.  She 
was  afraid  to.  But  with  one  hand  on  a 
bridle  bit  and  the  other  in  touch  with  the 
top  wire,  which  tore  her  mittens  and  now 
and  then  scratched  her  fingers,  she 
tramped  sturdily  southward,  in  what  she 
now  confidently  knew  to  be  the  right  di- 
rection. 

"If  this  fence  hadn't  been  here!"  she 
reflected,  and  the  shudder  that  shook  her 
was  not  caused  by  a  gust  of  the  storm. 

The  chill  began  to  go  out  of  her  blood 
a  little  as  she  toiled  on.  She  did  not  try 
to  keep  the  team  in  the  trail.  She  could 
not  see  the  trail,  because  of  the  snow  on 
the  ground  and  in  the  air. 

The  way  seemed  dreadfully  long.  She 
was  growing  very  tired,  and  was  wonder- 
ing how  much  farther  she  would  have  to 
go,  when  she  heard  Jepson's  dog  bark, 
and  fairly  stumbled  against  the  north  wall 
of  Jepson's  stable,  which  was  built  quite 
up  to  the  cattle  company's  fence. 


Feeling  her  way  along  the  wall,  she  led 
the  team  into  the  lee  of  the  stable  and  up 
to  the  stable  door.  Then  she  stumbled 
through  the  drifts  to  the  house,  which, 
fortunately,  was  only  a  few  feet  away, 
and  whose  direction  she  knew. 

Her  knock  was  answered  by  Jepson's 
oldest  boy.  He  stared  at  her,  wonder- 
ingly.  He  was  in  stockinged  feet,  but 
otherwise  dressed.  She  saw  he  had  just 
crawled  out  of  bed,  and  looking  beyond 
him  she  beheld  the  heads  of  the  other 
children  peeping  above  the  bed  clothing. 
They  had  crawled  into  bed  because  of  the 
cold  and  their  terror  of  the  storm. 

"If  I  tie  a  rope  round  your  waist  can 
you  put  the  team  in  the  stable?"  she 
asked  of  the  boy  as  she  entered.  "  The 
horses  are  almost  frozen,  and  I  was  afraid 
you  would  be!" 

The  room  was  tireless  and  icy  cold. 

"  We'll  get  the  horses  in  the  stable, 
and  then  we'll  have  some  of  that  coal  out 
of  the  wagon  and  start  a  fire,"  she  said. 

She  took  off  the  mask  and  unwound 
the  scarf  from  about  her  neck  and  ears. 
Not  till  then  did  Billy  Jepson  know  who 
she  was. 

So  severe  was  the  blizzard  that  Minnie 
Dixon  was  not  able  to  return  home  for 
three  days.  In  fact,  before  she  ventured 
to  leave  Jepson's,  Jepson  appeared,  his 
anxiety  having  been  so  great  that  Walt 
could  not  detain  him  after  the  storm 
showed  signs  of  abating. 

"You're  the  grittiest  and  best  woman 


FROM  FOREST  TO  PRINTING-PRESS.  83 

in  these  parts!"  Jepson  said  to  her,  in  his  That  was  what  Jepson  said.  The  Web- 
homely  yet  honest  way.  "  I  don't  know  ster  City  "  Herald,"  which  a  week  later 
what  my  little  tots  would  've  done  if  you  made  mention  of  her  unselfish  bravery, 
hadn't  risked  it.  'Twould  've  been  awful  spoke  of  her  as  "  A  Heroine  of  the 
fer  'em,  with  nothin'  to  eat  and  no  fire!"  Plains." 


From  Forest  to  Printing -Press. 


BY  JOHN  H.  WHITSON. 


"ID  you  ever  consider 
\  how  full  of  interest 
is  the  history  of 
the  paper  on  which 
these  words  are 
printed? 

There  was  a 
time,  not  so  very  remote,  when  paper  of 
this  kind  was  nearly  all  made  of  rags; 
now  it  is  almost  wholly  made  of  wood, 
chiefly  spruce  and  poplar. 

The  history  of  paper  -  making,  from 
those  old,  old  days  in  Egypt  when 
papyrus  leaves  were  used,  down  to  the 
paper-devouring  present,  would  make  an 
interesting  article  of  itself.  Try  to  think 
how  it  would  be  if  we  had  no  paper,  and 
then  you  will  gain  some  idea  of  the  im- 
portance of  paper  to  the  people  of  this 
age.  Without  paper,  there  would  be  few 
books  and  very  little  learning.  The 
leaves  of  the  few  books  would  be  made 
chiefly,  if  not  altogether,  of  the  prepared 


skins  of  animals.  Even  the  Bible,  as  was 
once  the  case,  would  be  so  expensive  that 
it  would  be  only  in  the  hands  of  the  rich 
or  in  churches  chained  to  the  pulpits. 
The  world  would  be  filled  with  ignorance 
and  superstition,  for  without  books  there 
cannot  be  great  enlightenment. 

The  amount  of  paper  used  by  a  nation 
is  said  to  be  a  good  guage  of  its  intelli- 
gence. You  will  be  glad  to  know  that 
our  own  country,  tested  in  this  way, 
stands  very  high.  There  are  more  than 
a  thousand  paper  mills  in  the  United 
States,  and  these  turn  out  many,  many 
tons,  for  as  a  nation  we  are  great  paper- 
users. 

Fortunately  for  the  paper-making  in- 
dustry the  forests  of  spruce  on  this  con- 
tinent seem  almost  inexhaustible.  The 
principal  area  extends  from  upper  New 
England  to  Hudson  Bay.  Probably 
more  spruce  comes  from  Maine  than  from 
any  other  state,  and  most  of  this  comes 


84 


FROM  FOREST  TO  PRINTING-PRESS. 


from  the  region  drained  by  the  Penobscot 
River. 

If  you  will  consult  a  good  map  of  Maine 
you  will  see  that  the  northern  part  of  the 
state  is  a  labyrinth  of  lakes  and  water- 
ways. These  lakes  and  streams  are  the 
highways  down  which  the  spruce  logs  are 
conveyed  on  their  way  to  the  paper  mills. 
The  logs  are  cut  during  the  cold  winter 
months,  when  the  musical  streams  are 
still  and  the  snow  lies  deep  in  the  forests. 
The  men  who  cut  the  logs  pay  the 
owners  of  the  forest  at  an  agreed  rate  for 
the  standing  trees.  The  measurement  is 
made  after  the  logs  have  been  floated 
down,  by  a  man  who  is  called  a  "  scaler." 
He  has  a  rule  which  he  places  across  the 
ends  of  the  logs  to  ascertain  their  diam- 
eter. He  knows  that  a  log  of  a  certain 
length  and  diameter  contains  a  certain 
number  of  feet  of  lumber;  and  when  he 
has  made  his  measurements  it  is  a  simple 
matter  of  calculation  to  tell  how  many 
thousand  feet  of  lumber  there  are  in  the 
logs. 

One  of  the  first  things  the  loggers  must 
do  when  they  go  into  the  woods  to  cut  the 
logs,  is  to  erect  shelters  for  themselves 
and  their  teams.  They  select  a  dry  spot, 
near  water,  and  build  a  house  of  logs. 
The  chinks,  or  crevices  between  the  logs, 
they  fill  with  dry  moss,  to  keep  out  the 
wind  and  cold.  Then  they  build  a 
stable,  called  a  "  hovel,"  for  the  horses. 

When  these  shelters  have  been  pre- 
pared, a  road  for  the  teams  and  sleds  is 


cleared  to  the  best  timber,  and  the  good 
trees  are  marked,  cut  down  and  sawed  into 
logs,  which  the  teams  draw  to  the  edge  of 
the  frozen  lake  or  river.  Though  the 
weather  is  often  very  cold,  there  is  not 
much  wind  in  the  depths  of  the  woods,  so 
the  hardy  loggers  do  not  mind  it.  Noth- 
ing but  the  severest  storms  stop  the 
work;  and  the  "  logging,"  as  it  is  called, 
continues  through  the  entire  winter. 

With  the  opening  of  spring,  arrange- 
ments are  made  for  floating  the  logs  to 
the  sea  or  to  some  point  on  a  railway. 
This  is  called  "  driving,"  and  it  is  at  once 
the  most  exciting,  perilous  and  romantic 
part  of  the  work.  No  doubt  you  have 
read  of  the  dangers  of  taking  logs  down 
rivers  in  this  way,  for  many  true  tales  are 
given  us  which  tell  of  the  heroism  of  the 
"  river  drivers  "  of  Maine.  It  requires 
strength,  endurance  and  courage  to  be  a 
"  river  driver." 

Owing  to  the  length  of  the  water  high- 
ways and  the  fact  that  the  work  in  the 
woods  has  been  done  by  many  different 
parties  of  loggers,  as  a  matter  of  system 
and  economy  the  streams  down  which  logs 
are  to  be  floated  are  divided  into  sections 
called  "  drives."  A  gang  of  men  has 
charge  of  each  "  drive."  The  care  of  the 
descending  logs  in  each  is  undertaken  on 
contract,  and  is  let  out  to  the  lowest  bid- 
der at  an  auction  sale  which  is  held  in 
February. 

The  successful  bidder,  or  contractor, 
then  files  his  bond  for  the  faithful  per- 


FBOM  FOBEST  TO  P  BIN  TING- P BESS. 


85 


formanee  of  the  work,  gets  together  his 
camp  outfit  and  provisions,  and  hires  his 
"  drivers,"  or  men.  You  will  get  a  good 
idea  of  the  importance  of  "  river  driving  " 
as  a  business,  when  I  tell  you  that  last 
year  nearly  two  thousand  "  drivers  "  were 
employed  on  the  drives  of  the  Penobscot 
and  Connecticut  rivers  alone,  and  these 
were  not  half  of  the  "  river  drivers  "  of 
New  England. 

When  the  snows  are  melting  and  the 
streams  are  therefore  the  highest,  the 
drivers  roll  the  logs  into  the  water,  start 
them  on  their  journey,  keep  them  going, 
and  prevent  and  break  "  jams."  Oftener 
than  not  the  men  are  wet  and  cold  as  a 
result  of  their  work,  for  a  great  deal  of 
wading  is  required  and  "  duckings "  by 
falls  in  the  slushy,  icy  water  are  frequent. 
From  the  camp  on  shore,  food  is  conveyed 
to  the  men  at  work,  in  a  boat  called  by  the 
Indian  name  of  wangen,  which  is  pro- 
nounced "  warnjen."  With  the  coming 
of  night  the  logs  are  allowed  to  take  care 
of  themselves  and  the  men  sleep  at  the 
camp,  with  the  possible  exception  of  a 
few  who  may  be  stationed  at  points  where 
jams  are  feared. 

A  lonelier  task  than  this  of  standing  all 
night  on  the  shore  of  some  forest  stream, 
or  knee-deep  in  the  water,  watching  the 
foam-flecked  and  almost  invisible  current, 
ready  with  a  pole  to  push  off  any  threat- 
ening log,  can  hardly  be  imagined.  The 
wind  moans  through  the  tops  of  the  tall 
trees,  the  stream  roars  by,  the  moon  alter- 


nately hides  and  reveals  her  face,  and 
from  the  heart  of  the  great  wilderness 
comes  perhaps  the  hooting  of  an  owl  or 
the  cry  of  lynx  and  wild-cat. 

A  log  jam  is  the  dread  of  the  river 
driver.  A  spruce  log,  which  comes  spin- 
ning or  floating  down  the  current,  will  be 
brought  to  a  standstill  by  striking  its  ends 
against  the  shore  or  against  rocks.  It 
forms  a  barrier  upon  which  other  logs 
quickly  pile.  In  a  short  time  there  are 
hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of  logs, 
heaped  and  overlapped  in  confusion  at 
this  point,  filling  the  stream  from  bank  to 
bank;  and  to  this  still  others  are  being 
continually  added. 

To  break  the  jam  it  is  necessary  to  cut 
or  release  the  "  key  "  log,  the  one  which 
has  stopped  and  now  holds  back  the 
others.  This  is  often  so  perilous  a  thing 
to  do  that  the  men  who  attempt  it  take 
their  lives  in  their  hands.  Hundreds  of 
men  have  lost  their  lives  in  Maine, 
crushed  or  drowned,  while  breaking  log 
jams.  •  <  i 

The  one  who  volunteers  for  the  work 
crosses  the  dangerous  heap  of  shaking 
logs  with  an  axe  to  cut  the  key  log,  or 
with  dynamite  and  fuse.  There  is  less 
risk  in  the  use  of  dynamite,  and  in  conse- 
quence it  is  now  much  employed,  thougli 
it  is  destructive  of  logs.  If  the  breaker  of 
the  jam  is  to  do  it  by  cutting  through  the 
key  log,  he  makes  a  wild  rush  for  the 
shore  as  soon  as  that  log  begins  to  bend 
and  crack  under  the  weight  of  the  logs 


86 


FROM  FOREST  TO  PRINTING-PRESS. 


pressing  down  on  it  from  above.  Often 
the  break  comes  suddenly,  for  the  pres- 
sure is  enormous.  In  that  event  there  is 
an  avalanche  of  logs  and  the  man  is  in- 
stantly killed.  Sometimes;  when  the  logs 
start,  their  movement  hurls  him  from  his 
feet,  or  the  logs  separate  and  drop  him 
into  the  stream. 

So  great  is  the  danger  that  one  would 
think  few  men  could  be  found  to  take  the 
risk,  yet  there  are  always  plenty  of  volun- 
teers for  the  work.  If  dynamite  is  used, 
as  soon  as  the  fuse  is  lighted  the  jam- 
breaker  starts  on  a  run  for  the  shore. 
The  dynamite  blows  out  the  key  log  and 
the  jam  is  broken. 

The  logs  are  transported  across  lakes 
and  similar  stretches  of  water  in  large 
rafts  held  together  by  "  booms,"  or  logs 
bound  together.  The  rafts  are  warped 
along,  by  fastening  ropes  to  objects 
ahead  and  drawing  on  the  ropes,  or,  as  in 
the  larger  lakes,  they  are  towed  by  small 
steamers.  The  work  is  now  so  system- 
atized that  steamers  are  provided  for  most 
of  the  lakes,  many  narrow  places  in  the 
rivers  have  been  blasted  and  widened  to 
prevent  the  formation  of  jams,  while 
"  booms,"  or  barriers,  have  been  placed  in 
crooked  places,  to  divert  the  logs  and  keep 
them  from  shooting  out  into  the  woods  or 


going  ashore  in  marshes  and  at  shallow 
points. 

When  the  logs  reach  the  sea,  the  ship 
landing  or  the  railway  station,  they  are 
loaded  on  vessels  or  cars  and  conveyed  to 
the  paper  mills.  Often  they  are  bound 
into  large  rafts,  which  are  towed  by 
steamers  to  their  destinations  from  the 
mouths  of  the  rivers. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  paper  mills  the 
logs  are  first  split  and  then  chipped  fine 
by  machinery.  These  chips  are  put  into 
tanks  called  "  digesters,"  where  they  are 
treated  with  sulphurous  acid,  under  heat, 
which  destroys  or  eats  out  the  cellular, 
resinous  matter,  leaving  only  the  fiber 
of  the  wood. 

This  reduces  the  wood  to  a  beautiful 
white  pulp,  which  is  washed  and  screened 
and  variously  treated;  and  which,  finally, 
after  passing  through  presses  and  drying 
rooms,  comes  out  as  you  see  it,  paper. 

It  is  sent  to  the  big  printing  presses  on 
large  ribbon-like  rolls,  ready  for  the  appli- 
cation of  type  and  ink  to  make  it  into  the 
object  you  behold,  giving  you,  through 
the  eyes,  noble  and  good  thoughts  and 
beautiful  pictures.  Is  it  not  a  romantic 
and  marvelous  process,  which  thus  takes 
a  tree  from  a  far-off  forest  and  makes  of 
it  an  engine  of  civilization? 


Why  the  Mills  Were  Started. 


BY    JOHN    H.   WH1TSON. 


T  was  said  that 
Amasa  Stone 
had  a  heart  as 
flinty  as  his 
name.  Cer- 
tainly the  peo- 
ple of  Damaris- 
cara  had  never 
witnessed  any  exhibition  of  great  gener- 
osity on  his  part.  Damariscara  was  a 
New  England  cotton  mill  town.  It  was 
not  a  large  town,  but  its  two  cotton  mills, 
employing  five  or  six  hundred  men, 
women  and  children,  produced  such  ex- 
cellent muslin  that  its  name  was  known 
more  widely  than  that  of  many  a  more 
pretentious  place.  The  blue  stamp, 
"  Damariscara  Mills,"  on  a  piece  of  mus- 
lin, was  everywhere  accepted  as  a  guar- 
antee of  the  quality  of  the  goods. 

But  the  mills  were  now  shut  down,  for 
how  long  no  one  could  say.  The  cotton 
mill  industry  of  New  England  was  in  a 
depressed  condition.  Hence  the  mills 
were  idle  and  the  mill  hands  out  of  work. 
"  Of  course  I  oughtn't  to  expect  people 
to  make  bricks  without  straw,"  Amasa 
Stone  grumbled,  as  he  took  a  turn  about 
his  office,  that  bright  June  evening.  "  I 
don't  expect  it,  but  I've  got  to  protect  my- 
self.    It's  a  dead  loss  to  run  the  mills 


now  —  will  be  for  several  months,  and 
the  people  are  hard  pressed.  But  I  must 
collect  my  rents.  I  can't  be  expected  to 
keep  a  horde  of  folks  in  my  houses  free 
of  charge.  That's  asking  entirely  too 
much.  Those  that  can't  pay  will  have 
to  go  out  and  let  others  come  in  that  will 
pay.    I  don't  see  any  other  way  to  do." 

He  took  another  turn  about  the  room. 
He  was  a  tall  man,  rather  stern,  and  with 
deep  gray  eyes.  His  hair  and  beard 
were  beginning  to  whiten,  but  he  was  still 
erect  and  sturdy.  He  seemed  to  be,  as 
he  was,  a  man  of  strength  and  purpose; 
a  man  of  sufficient  force  to  become  an 
instrument  of  great  good  or  of  great  evil. 

Amasa  Stone's  self  -  communing  and 
the  arguments  he  used  showed  that  his 
heart  was  not  entirely  flint.  One  with  a 
heart  so  hard  does  not  seek  to  justify 
himself. 

After  a  little  he  put  on  his  hat  and 
went  out  into  the  street.  The  lights 
were  twinkling  in  the  houses,  the  stars 
were  shining,  the  air  was  sweet  and  cool. 
In  the  valley  below  was  the  tenement 
district,  where  lived  the  operatives,  al- 
most within  the  shadows  of  the  tall 
smoke-stacks  that  towered  above  the 
mills. 

"  If  Thorndyke  hasn't  the  money  to- 


87 


S8 


WHY  TEE    MILLS    WERE   STARTED. 


night  I  sha'n't  wait  on  him  any  longer," 
was  his  thought,  as  he  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  tenements.  "  That  family 
from  Androscoggin  will  take  the  house, 
and  what's  more,  they'll  ^pay  the  rent. 
Of  course,  I'm  sorry  for  Thorndyke,  but 
that's  no  reason  I  should  support  him. 
There'll  be  no  call  for  him  to  suffer, 
even  if  he  does  go  out  of  the  house." 

The  selectmen  of  the  town,  aided  by 
charitable  people,  had  opened  a  soup 
house  for  such  as  were  in  actual  need, 
and  then  there  was  the  poor  -  farm  for 
those  wdio  had  no  shelter.  Being  one  of 
the  heaviest  tax-payers,  Stone  felt  that  it 
was  largely  his  money  that  the  selectmen 
were  using  and  with  which  the  county 
paid  the  expenses  of  the  poor-farm.  He 
told  himself  that,  though  Jack  Thorn- 
dyke  was  a  good  weaver  and  had  always 
met  his  bills  when  he  had  work,  he  was 
no  more  entitled  to  sympathy  than  others 
who  had  been  forced  to  accept  such 
charity. 

"  I  don't  want  to  turn  him  out,  but  if 
I  make  an  exception  in  his  case  I'll  have 
to  in  others,  and  where  will  it  end?" 
Stone  reflected.  "  I  really  hope  he  re- 
ceived that  money  he  was  expecting  from 
his  sister  in  the  West,  though  I  don't 
suppose  he  has." 

He  buttoned  his  coat  about  him,  as  he 
walked  on  in  that  beautiful  June  evening, 
as  if  he  had  buttoned  further  argument 
out  of  his  heart. 

The  Thorndyke  cottage  was  tiny,  but 


it  had  a  home-like,  cozy  look.  It  had 
not  been  built  for  a  tenement,  but  for  a 
home,  by  a  poor  man,  who  had  been 
forced  to  give  it  up.  Thorndyke's  wife 
was  dead  these  two  years  now,  but  he 
still  tried  to  keep  the  house  as  she  would 
like  it,  and  to  keep  in  the  yard  and  the 
windows  the  flowers  she  had  loved. 

One  of  the  windows  was  open,  and  a 
canary  —  Mrs.  Thorndyke's  canary  — 
cheered  by  the  lamp,  was  trilling  joy- 
ously, as  Amasa  Stone  passed  up  the  nar- 
row, flower-bordered  walk. 

"  For  a  man  in  Thorndyke's  circum- 
stances, that's  what  I  call  extravagance," 
he  thought,  further  hardening  his  heart. 
"  Why  does  he  keep  that  bird  ?  And  the 
time  he  spends  fooling  with  these  flowers 
might  bring  him  money,  if  he'd  use  it  in 
work  in  other  people's  yards  or  gardens!" 

He  stopped.  A  child's  voice  had 
reached  him,  the  voice  of  Edith  Thorn- 
dyke. Stone  had  often  seen  her  and  ad- 
mired her.  She  was  Jake  Thorndyke's 
only  child,  sweet-faced  and  grave-eyed  — 
not  pretty,  but  attractive  simply  because 
she  seemed  such  a  modest,  earnest  little 
body. 

Through  the  open  window  he  now  saw 
the  child,  in  white  night  robe,  kneeling 
beside  her  bed.  Near  her  Thorndyke  sat 
on  a  chair. 

"  You  haven't  read  any  verses  to-night, 
papa,"  Stone  heard  her  say,  and  saw  her 
lift  her  head.  "  I  was  'bout  to  forget 
it." 


WHY  THE  MILLS    WERE   STARTED. 


89 


She  half  arose,  and  Thorndyke,  as  if 
reproved,  shifted  uneasily  and  put  out 
his  hand  for  the  Bible  on  the  stand 
close  by. 

Amasa  Stone  could  not  have  told  why 
he    did    it,    but    he 
moved  a  step  nearer 
and  stood  still. 

"  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled," 
read  Thorndyke. 
"  Ye  believe  in  God, 
believe  also  in  me. 
In  my  Father's 
house  are  many  man- 
sions. If  it  were 
not  so,  I  would  have 
told  you." 

Though  a  good 
weaver,  Thorndyke 
was  not  a  good 
reader.  He  read 
poorly  and  without 
inflection,  but  the 
air  of  the  man  was 
sincerity  itself. 

"  Now  kiss  me  again,  papa!"  said  the 
child,  lifting  her  face  toward  him;  and 
Thorndyke,  putting  down  the  book,  rose 
heavily  from  the  chair  and  kissed  her, 
then  stood  beside  her  as  she  said  her 
prayer  —  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to 
sleep,"  and  ended  with  the  petition, 
"  Dear  Jesus,  bless  papa,  bless  everybody. 
Amen." 

It   was   only  a   child  repeating  words 


that  had  been  taught  her,  without  per- 
haps fully  comprehending  all  that  the 
words  meant,  but  it  touched  Amasa  Stone 
as  nothing  had  touched  him  in  years. 
He  had  said  that  prayer,  without  the  final 


Through  the  open  window  he  now  saw  the  child. —  See  page  83. 


sentence,  however,  at  his  mother's  knee, 
when  he  was  a  little  boy. 

Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  Amasa 
Stone,  whose  heart  many  men  believed 
to  be  as  hard  as  flint. 

He  did  not  move  until  the  child  was  in 
bed,  with  the  covers  tucked  lovingly 
about  her  by  her  father's  toil  -  worn 
hands. 

Then  Amasa  Stone  felt  in  his  pockets, 


90 


THE  INDIAN  CADMUS. 


with  fingers  that  trembled.  When  they 
<:ame  out,  they  held  a  pencil,  a  little  pad 
cf  paper  and  a  ten  -  dollar  bill.  He 
scribbled  a  few  words  on  a  sheet  of  the 
paper,  pinned  it  to  the  bill,  and,  stepping 
softly  to  the  window,  dropped  the  bill  to 
the  floor,  where  it  was  found  in  the 
morning.  On  the  sheet  of  paper  was 
written: 

"  Mr.  Amasa  Stone's  present  to  Miss  Edith 
Thorndyke,  who  prays  that  Jesus  may  bless 
everybody." 

At  a  meeting  of  the  stockholders  the 
next  day  Mr.  Stone  astonished  the  other 
members  of  the  association  by  rising  in 
his  place  and  saying: 


reached  this  conclusion  by  being  seriously 
led  to  reflect  on  the  condition  of  the  mill 
hands.  Therefore,  I  move  you,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, that  the  mills  be  started  again  next 
Monday,  for  the  benefit  of  the  town,  if 
we  gain  no  benefit  ourselves.  No  doubt 
there  will  be  loss,  but  I'm  sure  none  of  us 
will  be  made  much  poorer  because  of 
that." 

The  motion  was  promptly  seconded  by 
Judge  Hillyer,  who  had  advocated  this 
policy  from  the  first;  and  then  Amasa 
Stone  supported  his  own  motion  in  a 
speech  which  was  so  convincing  that  it 
carried  the  day. 

"  I  was  influenced  by  a  little  child," 

"  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we    said  Stone,  speaking  of  it  long  afterward; 

are  making  a  mistake  by  not  running  our    "  a  little  child  that  led  me  to  see  my  true 

mills,  even  if  the  times  are  hard  and  no    relations  to  my  fellow-men,  and  later  my 

money  to  be  made  at  present;  and  I  have    true  relations  to  God." 


The  Indian  Cadmus. 


BY    JOHN    H.   WH1TSON. 


HAT     rugged,     exclamatory 
writer,     Thomas     Carlyle, 
called     down     "  blessings 
on  the  head  of  Cadmus,  the 
Phoenicians,    or   whoever   it 
was  that  invented  books." 
It  is  well  known  now  that  neither  Cad- 
mus   nor    the    Phoenicians    "  invented " 


books  or  an  alphabet;  the  alphabet  more 
particularly  —  that  is,  our  alphabet  — 
"just  growed,"  like  Topsy. 

So  far  as  known,  only  two  men  ever 
actually  "  invented  "  an  alphabet.  One 
of  these  was  George  Psalmanazer,  a  noted 
impostor  of  the  last  century,  who  claimed 
to  have  discovered  a  singular  race  of  peo- 


pie  on  the  island  of  Formosa.  To  bolster 
his  claim,  Psalmanazer  went  to  the  vast 
trouble  of  inventing  a  language  and  an 
alphabet,  which  he  claimed  these  people 
used.  The  other  "  inventor "  of  an  al- 
phabet  was   a    Cherokee   Indian   named 


THE  INDIAN  CADMUS.  91 

one  who  thinks  he  can  do  little  or  nothing 
because  of  limited  opportunities. 
The  "  talking  leaf : 


of  the  white  man 


Sequoyah,  who  has  been  called  the  Indian 
Cadmus;  and  the  story  of  his  remarkable 
achievement  under  great  difficulty  ought 
to  be  helpful  and  encouraging  to  every 


has  been  a  wonder  of 
all  ignorant  peoples. 
Usually  the  savage 
thinks  the  paper,  or 
"leaf,"  has  intelli- 
gence, as  in  the  mis- 
sionary's story.  The 
missionary  sent  some  fruit,  bananas  per- 
haps, to  a  relative  or  friend  by  the  hand  of 
a  native,  accompanying  the  present  with 
a  note  setting  forth  the  fact  and  the 
number  of  bananas  sent.  On  the  way 
the  native  ate  one  of  the  bananas,  and 


92 

was  astounded  to  find  that  the  "talking 
leaf "  told  on  him.  When  he  was  sent 
again  with  bananas  and  a  note  he  sat  on 
the  note  while  he  ate  one  of  the  bananas, 
thinking  in  that  way  to  keep  the  note 
from  seeing  the  theft,  and  was  more  than 
astounded  when  the  note  again  told  on 
him. 

The  white  man's  writing  was  quite  as 
much  of  a  mystery  to  that  portion  of  the 
Cherokee  nation  residing  in  Alabama,  in 
the  early  part  of  this  century,  with  whom 
Sequoyah  lived.  One  day  some  young 
Cherokees  were  discussing  the  superior 
intelligence  of  the  white  man,  when  one 
spoke  of  the  white  man's  ability  to  put 
a  "  talk  "  on  a  piece  of  paper,  send  it  a 
long  distance  and  acquaint  the  receiver 
with  what  was  in  the  sender's  mind. 

This  was  not  news  to  Sequoyah.  He 
had  observed  and  deeply  pondered  the 
wonder. 

"  I  can  do  the  same,"  he  jestingly  de- 
clared, taking  up  a  flat  stone  and  scratch- 
ing various  marks  on  it. 

Then  he  pretended  to  read  the  marks; 
and  the  thought  flashed  on  him  that  here 
was  the  secret  —  the  making  of  a  sign  for 
a  word. 

The  subject  took  such  strong  hold  on 
him  that  he  could  think  of  little  else. 
He  began  to  work  on  a  vast  alphabet 
which  should  have  a  sign  for  every  word 
in  the  Cherokee  language.  His  letters 
were  pictorial  and  ideographic,  not  true 
letters,  but  signs  and  pictures  represent- 


THE  INDIAN  CADMUS. 

ing  objects  and  ideas.  They  multiplied 
until  they  became  unmanageable.  He 
soon  found  that  there  would  be  so  many 
that  no  one  could  be  expected  to  remem- 
ber them.  He  could  not  remember  them 
himself. 

Though  forced  to  admit  a  temporary 
defeat  he  did  not  despair,  but  gave  him- 
self even  more  completely  to  his  task.  He 
studied  the  sounds  made  in  speaking  and 
the  cries  of  birds  and  animals.  He 
neglected  his  farming  and  his  work. 
Many  of  his  friends  thought  he  was 
crazy,  or  would  soon  become  so.  But 
none  of  these  things,  not  even  the  old 
Cherokee  tradition  constantly  dinned  into 
his  ears,  could  turn  him  from  his  pur- 
pose. 

This  tradition  concerned  the  creation. 
It  stated  that  in  the  Leginning  the  Great 
Father  made  the  red  man  and  the  white 
man,  the  red  man  first.  He  gave  to  the 
red  man  the  choicest  gift,  a  book,  and  to 
the  white  man  a  bow  and  arrows.  The 
red  man  was  not  attentive  to  the  book 
and  the'  white  man  stole  it  away  from 
him,  leaving  the  bow  and  arrows  in  its 
place.  The  red  man  had  thus  lost  his 
birthright,  which  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  regain. 

At  last  Sequoyah  hit  on  the  idea 
which  he  carried  to  success.  He  discov- 
ered that  words  are  composed  of  syllabic 
sounds  and  that  a  great  many  words 
have  sounds  in  common.  After  a  long 
time  he  reduced  the  Cherokee  tongue  to 


THE  INDIAN  CADMUS. 


93 


eighty -five  elementary  sounds  and  in- 
vented or  adopted  a  character  for  each 
sound. 

Thus  the  Cherokee  alphabet  has  eighty- 
five  letters,  instead  of  twenty-six,  but 
Cherokee  writing  is  phonetic,  and  for  that 
reason  much  more  readily  learned  than 
ours.  It  is  seriously  claimed  that  a 
bright  Cherokee  boy  can  learn  to  read  and 
write  his  mother  tongue,  with  Sequoyah's 
alphabet,  in  less  time  than  a  week. 

Even  after  he  had  achieved  this  suc- 
cess, which  he  did  somewhat  as  Milton 
wrote  "  Paradise  Lost,"  with  the  help  — 
sometimes  the  unwilling  help  —  of  the 
female  members  of  his  family,  Sequoyah 
could  not  get  a  hearing  from  the  leaders 
of  his  people,  who  were  chained  to  their 
ignorance  by  that  old  legend.  There- 
upon Sequoyah  left  Alabama  and  went  to 
another  portion  of  the  tribe,  that  dwelt 
on  White  Eiver,  in  Arkansas.  There  he 
had  better  success.  Still,  only  the  in- 
ferior rank  of  Indians  gave  him  heed  at 
first  and  sought  to  acquire  his  wonderful 
art. 

Does  it  not  seem  strange  that  all  great 
movements  begin  at  the  bottom  and  work 
up?    We  are  told  that  when  the  Scribes 


and  Pharisees  rejected  Jesus,  "the  com- 
mon people  heard  him  gladly."  AH 
earnest  minds  have  had  Sequoyah's  fight 
and  Sequoyah's  faith.  Nothing  could 
daunt  them.  In  spite  of  opposition  and 
sneers,  in  spite  of  paralyzing  persecution, 
in  spite  of  everything,  they  followed  the 
light  and  the  truth,  like  Luther  sum- 
moned before  the  Diet  of  Worms,  though 
every  tile  on  the  housetops  was  an  angry 
or  a  sneering  devil.  The  world  needs 
men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  who  be- 
lieve something  and  are  willing  to  make 
sacrifice  for  their  belief. 

Sequoyah  triumphed  in  the  end,  as 
every  sturdy  toiler  must  do.  The  Chero- 
kee legislature  finally  voted  money  for  a 
printing  press  and  type  and  the  "  Chero- 
kee Advocate  "  was  started.  It  is  still 
run,  printed  one-half  in  Cherokee  and 
one-half  in  English. 

Sequoyah's  invention  made  the  Chero- 
kees  the  most  intelligent  and  the  best 
educated  of  the  Indian  tribes.  Nor  is  he 
forgotten  by  them.  In  the  Cherokee 
capitol  at  Tahlequah  has  been  placed  his 
bust,  by  Vinnie  Keam,  to  remind  the  be- 
holder of  what  the  Indian  Cadmus  did 
for  his  people. 


Whistling  Johnny. 


BY  JOHN  H.  WHITSON. 


DECLAEE!  that  boy 
will  make  me  crazy  with 
his  noise  and  whistling!" 
said  Aunt  Sue,  lifting 
the  egg-beater  out  of  the 
frothy  yellow  mass  in 
the  bowl  and  wrinkling 
her  usually  pleasant  forehead  in  a  frown. 
"I  can't  tell  you  how  he  tries  me!" 

A  healthy  boy  of  twelve  or  fourteen 
had  hurried  through  the  hall,  giving  the 
door  a  bang,  and  had  gone  loudly  whist- 
ling across  the  porch. 

A  smile,  that  had  a  reminiscent  tinge 
of  sadness  in  it,  came  to  Grandma  Per- 
kins' face. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  like  to  hear  him 
whistle,"  she  softly  said,  puckering  her 
apron  with  her  thin  fingers.  "  You  may 
be  sure,  for  one  thing,  that  his  heart  is 
light,  and  a  light,  care-free  heart  is 
worth  having  in  this  world.  Besides, 
when  a  boy  is  whistling,  you  can  know 
he's  not  into  any  mischief.  If  a  boy  is 
doing  wrong  he  doesn't  go  about  it  so 
merrily." 

"  I  believe  you've  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  Jim,"  observed  Aunt  Sue,  as  she  re- 
commenced whirling  the  egg-beater. 

The  tone  was  almost  as  gentle  as 
grandma's.      Perhaps    that    was   because 


grandma's  wistful  manner  and  soft  voice 
had  called  up  a  vision  of  Jim's  mother 
just  as  she  was  in  the  long  ago,  when,  as 
sisters,  she  and  Aunt  Sue  had  come  up  to 
young  womanhood  together,  with  the  sun- 
light of  gladness  and  the  beauty  of  pure 
hearts  and  good  health  in  their  faces. 
Jim's  mother  had  gone  but  a  little  dis- 
tance on  the  pathway  of  life  before  she 
wearied  and  gave  up  its  burden,  leaving 
to  other  hands  the  task  of  rearing  and 
training  her  baby  boy. 

"  He  makes  me  think  of  Johnny 
Lathrop,"  grandma  musingly  continued. 
(Grandma  Perkins  was  everybody's  grand- 
ma, and  always  the  gentle  defender  of  the 
boys  and  girls  wherever  she  went.)  "  We 
called  him  Whistling  Johnny.  Every- 
body called  him  that.  And  if  ever  a 
name  fitted  anybody,  that  fitted  him.  He 
whistled  continually,  at  work  and  at  play. 
And  he  could  whistle  like  a  bird.  It  was 
a  pleasure  to  me  just  to  listen  to  him,  for 
when  he  puckered  his  lips  and  began  to 
whistle,  real  music  came  out.  I  remem- 
ber when  he  forgot  and  began  to  whistle 
in  school,  one  time.  Of  course  the 
scholars  all  laughed,  and  he  received  a 
reprimand.  His  mother  told  that  she 
once  heard  him  whistling  in  the  night, 
and  she  was  sure  he  did  it  while  he  was 


WHISTLING    JOHNNY. 


95 


dreaming.  Ah,  me!"  sighed  grandma, 
while  the  wistful  light  deepened  in  her 
sweet  brown  eyes.  "  That  was  a  long, 
long  time  ago,  though  it  doesn't  really 
seem  it!" 

Aunt  Sue  stopped  her  egg-beating  to 
inspect  a  pie  in  the  oven. 

"  I  didn't  ever  think,  then,  how  glad 
I'd  be  to  hear  that  whistle,  some  day," 
grandma  continued,  after  it  seemed  she 
was  going  to  leave  the  story  unfinished 
and  wander  off  into  a  reminiscent  day 
dream.  "No,  that  I  didn't.  I'd  been 
down  on  the  ridge,  picking  blackberries, 
that  day.  Seems  to  me  I  can  see  and 
taste  those  berries  and  feel  the  scratches 
of  the  vines  yet.  I  suppose  the  reason  I 
remember  everything  so  distinctly  is  be- 
cause of  the  accident,  and  because  of  the 
little  green  snake  lying  on  the  briars, 
that  I  almost  put  my  hand  on  before  I 
saw  it. 

"  Well,  that  startled  me  a  good  deal, 
and  I  decided  that  I  wouldn't  pick  any 
more  berries  there,  but  would  go  over 
to  an  old  house,  where  there  was  a 
well,  and  eat  my  dinner.  I  had  my  din- 
ner in  a  little  tin  pail,  that  I  intended  to 
fill  with  berries  when  I  had  emptied  it  of 
food. 

"  So  I  walked  across  the  field,  letting 
my  sunbonnet  swing  at  the  back  of  my 
neck  by  its  strings,  for  my  face  and  head 
were  hot  and  I  wanted  to  get  all  the  good 
I  could  of  the  breeze.  It  was  about  noon, 
I   thought,   by    the    looks    of   the    sun. 


Everything  was  very  still,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  locusts  that  were  making  a 
noise  in  the  tree-tops. 

"  No  one  had  lived  in  the  house  for 
some  time.  The  front  door  was  off  its 
hinges  and  lying  in  the  weedy  yard.  I 
put  my  dinner  and  my  berry  pail  down  on 
this  door  and  hurried  to  the  well  to  draw 
some  water,  for  I  was  very  thirsty,  as 
well  as  warm.  I  don't  know  just  how  it 
happened,  but  when  I  reached  up  to  take 
hold  of  the  pole  of  the  old-fashioned 
well  -  sweep,  I  slipped  and  fell  into  the 
well."  Grandma  closed  her  eyes,  as  that 
old  fright  came  on  her  again. 

"  You  must  have  been  dreadfully  hurt, 
or  nearly  drowned?"  questioned  Aunt  Sue, 
lifting  the  egg-beater. 

"  No,  I  wasn't  hurt  a  bit,  but  you  may 
be  sure  I  was  dreadfully  scared.  For- 
tunately, the  well  wasn't  very  deep,  and 
I  went  down  feet  foremost.  I  fully  ex- 
pected to  drown;  but  when  I  scrambled 
up,  almost  scared  to  death,  I  found  that 
the  water  only  rose  to  a  little  above  my 
knees.  It  was  cold,  though,  almost  icy 
cold,  and  I  began  to  chill  and  my  teeth 
to  chatter  at  once.  I  didn't  know  what 
to  do  but  to  call  for  help,  and  I  called  till 
I  could  hardly  stand.  I  should  have  died 
there,  I  suppose,  if  Whistling  Johnny 
hadn't  come  along.  He  was  on  his  way 
to  the  berry  patch,  and  of  course  he  was 
whistling.  As  soon  as  I  heard  him  I  be- 
gan to  shout  and  scream  again.  The 
whistling  stopped,  so  I  knew  he  heard 


96  WHISTLING 

me.  I  kept  on  calling,  and  finally, 
guided  by  my  voice,  he  came  up  to  the 
well  and  looked  in.  He  was  dreadfully 
alarmed  when  he  saw  me  in  there. 

" '  Do  you  suppose  you  could  get  me 
out,  Johnny?'  I  asked.  '  I  shall  die  in 
here,  if  you  don't,  or  if  you  can't  bring 
me  help  soon.  You  couldn't  pull  me  out 
with  the  sweep,  could  you?' 

"  Johnny  looked  at  me  and  at  the 
sweep,  then  scratched  his  head.  '  I  tell 
you  what,'  he  said,  '  I  can  try.' 

"  I  didn't  know,  then,  the  plan  that 
had  popped  into  his  mind,  and  though  I 
was  so  anxious  for  him  to  try,  I  really 
doubted  his  ability,  with  all  the  help  I 
could  give  him,  for  you  see  he  was  only  a 
boy,  though  heavy  and  strong  for  his 
years.  He  began  to  whistle,  and  the  next 
minute  he  sent  down  the  bucket.  '  Get 
into  that,'  he  called,  '  while  I  shin  up  the 
big  pole.  And  be  sure  you  hold  on  good 
and  tight  when  she  begins  to  lift,  and 
don't  you  wiggle  round  any.'  Then  he 
ran  away,  and  I  felt  the  jar,  as  he  began 
to  climb  the  big  pole  to  the  fork  in  which 
the  sweep  rested.  The  long  arm  of  the 
sweep  was  pivoted  in  that  fork,  you 
know,  so  that  its  ends  would  move  up  and 
down  like  a  see-saw.  A  minute  or  so 
later  he  called:  'All  ready!  Are  you 
all  ready?'      I  was  in  the  bucket  and 


JOHNNY. 

clinging  tremblingly  to  the  little  pole 
that  served  as  the  bucket  rope.  I  told 
him  I  was  ready,  though  I  still  hardly 
understood  his  plan.  Then  the  little 
pole,  to  which  I  clung,  jarred  again.  He 
was  hitching  back  along  the  high  arm  of 
the  sweep.  He  was  forced  to  hitch  to  its 
extreme  end  before  his  weight  was  suf- 
ficient to  lift  me.  Then  the  bucket  be- 
gan to  rise.  '  She's  comin'!'  I  heard  him 
screech;  and  then  he  began  to  whistle 
again,  as  his  snd  of  the  long  sweep  went 
down  and  mine  went  up.  It  did  not  take 
me  long  to  reach  the  top  of  the  well,  wet 
and  chilled,  but  safe  and  sound.  I 
scrambled  out  of  the  bucket  as  quick  as  I 
could,  letting  Johnny's  end  of  the  sweep 
go  '  chug "'  to  the  ground.  But  as  the 
drop  was  only  a  foot  or  so,  the  fall  did  not 
hurt  him.  '  Worked  it  slick  as  a  whistle!' 
he  said,  exultantly.  And  then,  as  if  that 
made  him  recollect  something  he'd  for- 
gotten, he  puckered  his  lips  and  became 
again  Whistling  Johnny. 

"  So  you  see  why  it  is  I  like  to  hear 
boys  whistle,"  grandma  concluded.  "Let 
them  whistle,  just  as  the  birds  do.  The 
time  comes  soon  enough,  usually,  when 
they  quit  it  of  themselves.  But  I've 
found  out  by  experience  that  a  boy  can  do 
a  good  piece  of  work  and  whistle  while 
doing  it." 


J 


^mmrjm 


J       v 


Sp?  ' 


1   ' 


>C^\ :  -  - 


'         A 


